


Azure Conspiracies

by mitspeiler



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Humanstuck, Multi, Out of Character, Underage Drinking, mild clockpunk, sexy dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 74,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitspeiler/pseuds/mitspeiler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU fic. The trolls are all humans living in an alternate 1700s Europe. The characters are part of a hidden society of magi with a class system based on the Color of magic that a person uses, which has some interesting parallels to the hemospectrum.  The kids need to put aside their petty differences to protect their hidden school from a conspiracy of insane Blue magi.   Hilarity (and drama) ensues.  Also Doc Scratch is good, and John is not.  Allegedly better than it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Do Colors Have to do With Magic, Anyway?

The good Doctor, last of the Solomonari, known to some as Old Scratch, was tall and stately figure clothed all in white. People rarely remembered his face; they can swear that his eyes burned like stars and that his hair was red, but try as they might they could only ever picture it as a blank. He had adopted children but rarely stayed with his wards. He preferred to wander the land, providing the people with his services. In the back end of Romania, no one cared whether the healing was done by science or by a touch of White sorcery, as long as it was done. But he returned to the decrepit ruins once a month to provide them with necessities and news about the outside world, and to teach them the ways of magic.  
The orphans had been living under his care for several years. Kanaya he rescued from her burning farmstead when she was only three. A pack of ravenous Nosferatu had slaughtered every living thing on the property except for the tiny, snow white girl, gazing up in fear at the mighty Solomonar blazing like the sun in the deep of night with her huge green eyes. He’d taken her to his home, the ruins of an ancient castle where he himself had studied the deeper arts. As soon as she was old enough to make conscious decisions about things, he largely left her to her own devices, for in all his centuries of life he had never had to take care of a child. She did not mind though; the castle was stocked with all the necessities, including a fine library, and was warded against the elements so securely that Kanaya could, and often did, sit in a certain room with only one wall and watch the thunderstorms roll soundlessly along. What’s more, the air was thick with magic and smelled clean and energized like after a lightning storm. The local spirits loved the castle and paid tribute to it, and they took care of her whenever the Doctor was not in.  
When he realized that his ward could see the spirits and interact with them, when it became apparent that she had an affinity for Green magic, he tried to hone her gift as well as he, a White mage, could. He got her a fine set of bells made from the four theurgic materials and inducted her into the many mysteries of spirit magic. Old Scratch had been classmates with Vyasa the poet, one of the greatest Green magi of all time, and as such while he considered himself lacking in Green skill, he was in fact better suited to teach it than most people alive today.  
Years later, Karkat had wandered into the ruins, beaten and bloody, with no memories of who he’d been other than his name, and something about crabs. Old Scratch assured his ward that there was no medical or magical reason; it was all in his head, and would return when he needed it. Karkat had been frightened of her when he first saw her; delirious from blood loss, he’d thought the pale girl was a ghost. But the two of them tended to Karkat’s wounds and eventually he grew to trust them. He too had an affinity for magic, but unlike his adopted sister, his magic was Red, and granted him power over the physical forces of the universe. All the same, Scratch had made an astrolabe, the special instrument of the red magi, with which to measure and manipulate the powers that gave shape to the world. Karkat hated the bloody thing. Also unlike his sister, his control over those already unwieldy tools was erratic and limited. Some days he felt like he didn’t use magic at all, but rather that it used him. While he grew to love his new family, he was filled with an anger that he could not quench, and frustratingly, one which he could not even explain.  
One day, Old Scratch returned home while his wards were having a…colorful discussion on the mechanics of magic. Karkat had been trying unsuccessfully to draw iron out of the earth with Kanaya watching. “Whenever I have difficulties,” she said in her calm slow tone, choosing every word very carefully, “I just try to slow my breathing—”  
“Uh huh,” Karkat snapped through clenched teeth, staring intently at the ground with his left hand upraised. He was clenching so hard you could almost hear his jaw creaking.  
Ignoring his tone, she put a hand on his shoulder. “I close my eyes and submit. I open myself up to the spirits—”  
“That would be useful if I were dealing with spirits!” He snapped, turning to glare at her. “Red magic is like trying to get the moon to out of the way, or Old Scratch to show up at a convenient time, but instead of any of those things you’re trying to control the speed and direction of the hours, or the thing that keeps you from falling up, or the thing that makes compasses point north, and none of those things want to do anything that isn’t what they’ve been doing for however long the world has existed, so submitting to their will is really just the same as going about your everyday business, being held down and being oriented and living an hour for every hour. You need to show the bastards who the master is, the master being me—”  
And he was struck in the face by a handful of iron dust that had exploded out of the ground at his statement. He went quiet and made an obscene gesture in the general direction of the universe while Kanaya cleaned his face off with her handkerchief, quite used to his verbal mistreatment and knowing that he would be perfectly apologetic within an hour or too.  
It was at this point that Old Scratch appeared in a burst of green and white light. “Karkat, put down your hands,” he said, pulling the two into an embrace. “In this house we use our words.” Karkat proceeded to let the universe know exactly what he thought of it while the Solomonar pulled Kanaya aside.  
He produced his pack from thin air, reached in, and pulled out a fine jade-green coat. “For you, darling”, he said. “I had this made in Vienna, to match your eyes. There’s another one in red for your pseudo-sibling, once he gets over his fit.”  
“I hope it wasn’t too expensive,” she said, pulling the coat on. The coat flared out from her waist and was trimmed with bands of embroidery in a floral pattern. The buttons were made of some shiny bluish metal, the wide cuffs were lined with lace, and it fit her so perfectly she was sure Old Scratch had done something to it.  
“Not at all dear, the tailor was quite happy to make them for me after I cured his daughter from some plague or other. There are so many I can’t keep track of them all.” Kanaya laughed a polite laugh that didn’t quite acknowledge the joke as funny but appreciated the effort.  
The laughter stopped when Old Scratch spoke next. “You’ll be wearing these at the Scholomance, for your first day and probably after,” he said, in a casual tone.  
Kanaya looked downcast. “You’re sending us away?”  
He gently tilted her head up by the chin and bent his considerable form, so his burning white eyes could gaze directly into her green. “Your little discussion with Karkat today simply proves how lax I’ve been in my teaching. I’ve never been suited to be a teacher. I fear I’d simply lure you down paths you oughtn’t to have taken. But I’m not abandoning you, I’ll come visit once a month like I always have.” He straightened, and looked away towards Karkat, who seemed to still be merely building up to a furious upbraid at the grand forces of the cosmos. “I know I could never replace you fathers, but I care about you both and want to see you two prosper, and you’ll find that advancement for poor orphans is not as limited amongst magical folk as it is for commoners, especially with talents such as Red and Green.”  
Kanaya looked down, thinking of what she should say next. She took Old Scratch’s hand and said, “You are our father.”  
“I’m sure I’m touched,” he said in his usual tone of voice. Together they watched Karkat.

The Helmsman was a tall lanky figure, dressed in extravagant clothes all in loud primary colors; red and blue and black, but most of all yellow. His long yellow coat, streaked with black like a wasp, streamed behind him as he steered the boat towards the rising full moon. His yellow tricorne, topped with four yellow feathers, looked like the horned helm of an angry god, looking dull against the whiteness of the moon. The boat was flying through the night air, sailing the clouds as other ships sailed the seas, carrying a precious cargo. Students, from far off England and Spain and it still needed to collect a few from France.  
Eridan Ampora awoke in the small cabin towards the back of the vessel, violet coat wrapped tightly around his shoulders against the cold. He’d been the first one on the ship and had napped for most of it until now, awoken by the chill of the night at this altitude. There were others now; a wiry looking commoner with one ruddy-brown eye and one blue sitting to Eridan’s right, a boy who’d shaved the sides of his head for some reason to the right of him, his legs shriveled up like raisins underneath; a wild looking girl with a rich tan dressed in boy’s clothing to Eridan’s left, she noticed him looking and smiled but he ignored her in favor of the delightful vision across from him; a girl in a fine dress the color of wine in the moonlight streaming through the window. It matched her big round eyes and hinted at her burgeoning curves, but more important was her long hair, thick and wavy, gleaming like silver. This, he knew, was a sign of her immense power. She’d be a fine alliance, if he could manage it. “Greetings, fair lady, may I inquire as to your name?” he said as smoothly as he could manage.  
She looked up at him, considering for a moment, and then looked away. The wild girl snickered. Undeterred, Eridan pressed on. “I am Eridan Ampora, of Dualscar Isle. This school that we’re going to is not a natural part of our world and the rules there are quite different from what we are used to. We’ll be forced to mingle with commoners and foreigners like this dreck here,” he said, indicating the two passengers to his left; the boy made a rude gesture and the girl tilted her head, as if confused; he decided she was either foreign or stupid. “It should be most taxing to a diamond of the first water such as yourself.” The odd-eyed boy made a ruder gesture that even the foreigner understood. Eridan ignored him and continued. “It would be most wondrous if we became friends,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. “And perhaps if you are interested—”  
“That is just capital,” said a new voice. A boy with white blonde hair, also wearing spectacles. He was wearing a bright red coat of simple make; he could have been the lady’s sibling but his clothing spoke of some wealthy merchant’s son, while her dress declared her a true noblewoman. He’d been lying down on the bench right next to her! His head might have touched her lap! The cur! “Your overtures of romance are completely free of subtlety, creativity, and cleverness of any kind. You are clearly one of the most talented writers of our age for no one else would be able to conceive of such shallow pedantries as those which you’ve offered to the lady here. I applaud you,” he said, applauding loudly and slowly as if for an idiot. He turned to the lady and, whispering very loudly so that Eridan could hear, said “This, Madame, is for the purpose of irony. I do not in actuality believe him to be in possession of anything resembling talent in any field but am merely taking the piss out of him as the lower classes say. All that said, you are a beauty rare and most certainly a leader of the ton; might you do me the honor of—”  
“Hey, wanker,” shouted Eridan. He’d always had trouble with losing his composure, so his father had always told him, but he’d be damned if he allowed this lowborn bastard to insult him and try to woo a noblewoman right after.  
“Can you repeat that?” The merchant’s son sounded mildly intrigued, as if legitimately interested.  
Eridan was a little thrown, but continued. “How dare you assault a noble woman of such stature as—as—”  
“Aradia”, said the lady, her voice entirely emotionless.  
“A name as lovely as you yourself—”  
“Lovely,” said the blonde boy, as if tasting the word.  
“You stop that!” Eridan shouted, pointing a finger. “You dare mock my words and act as if you were our equal! Why, you’re just some rich merchant’s son I’ll bet, or even an innkeeper’s, whose head has gotten so swollen that he thinks he’s practically a nobleman—”  
“And you’re some minor noble’s son who learned magic from his toothless old granny and thinks that just because some ancestor of his way down the line fucked the king he’s better than a fully realized red mage.” The boy took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt; he sounded very bored, as if he’d had the conversation before. Eridan was left speechless at his vulgarity. “You said so yourself, the rules are different here. The Strider family have been using magic since before Hadrian’s wall was built, and more importantly, we’ve all been Red for a good ten generations. What’s your Color?”  
Eridan was still reeling. “V-violet.”  
The boy—Strider, laughed. “V-v-violet? Do talk to animals or just turn into one, stutterer?”  
Eridan growled. “I can divide my consciousness amongst a hundred-strong murder of crows—”  
Strider ignored him and went on, saying “if you’re a noble, what title do you have? Not that I care whether you’re a baronet or the Grand Duke.”  
“I am the Honourable Eridan Ampora,” he spat, fuming, “son of Viscout Dulascar and you will address me—”  
“Your face is so red, it’s magnificent like the sunset,” said Strider. “I’m David Strider, son of the Wizard Strider, and you will address me as David Strider, you stuttering feeble-colored beef-head.”  
Eridan jumped to his feet, drawing his rod, a lovely piece of lignum vitae carved all over with Celtic curls that his grandmother had gifted him when she learned he had the gift. Strider was right about some things; she’d been a hedge-witch, too weak to be accepted into the Scholomance to learn proper magic, the laughingstock of Castle Dualscar for practicing her heathenry until someone broke a bone or got sick or lost something. She’d danced across the whole little island that was to be Eridan’s inheritance when Eridan had first called down a bird from the sky. And his father still mocked him for the way he struggled with Vs and Ws, even though he’d largely trained himself out of it (until now) with little help from anyone. Eridan had true power, and he would save the Ampora’s from the disgrace of two century’s bad investments and over-drinking. But first he had to teach Strider a lesson.  
While the boy was laughing at him, saying that he had entirely the wrong totem object for someone of his Color, Eridan took two steps forward struck him across the face with it, making the boy’s glasses fall off, cracking against the floor. Frustratingly, this just made Strider laugh more. “You actually hit me with the thing? How much of an idiot can you be? That’s how you go grimdark, drawing blood with a totem object. It lets in dark things from beyond the heavenly spheres.” He pointed to his heart, “in here,” and, pointing to his forehead, “and in here. Incidentally, I love how you’re a viscount.” He stood up, a hideous grin on his face. Eridan took a step back; the boy’s eyes were red, like the fires of hell. “Oh no, V-v-v-v-viscount Ampora, we are entrenched in it now!” He held up a hand, and a sword appeared, crackling with red lightning. Curiously, everything made of metal that was not bolted down began to rattle uncontrollably.  
Eridan gulped. Strider grinned. The odd-eyed boy muttered a nonstop stream of expletives to himself. The foreign girl grew tense, losing all previous signs of playfulness, like an animal ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. The crippled boy looked terrified. Aradia was indifferent to the situation.  
Quite suddenly, the door to the cabin was thrown open and the biggest person either of them had ever seen walked in with a grim expression on his face. Even Aradia looked startled by this development. His greasy black hair covered his eyes and he wore no coat so Eridan could see a hint of….something sticking out from his back. His speech was cordial enough, for all that his voice made the air tremble. “The Helmsman commands that there is to be no fighting on this vessel, sirs.”  
Strider spat. “As if I’ll be commanded by some Yellow mage’s pet—” The big man strode forward, grabbed both Strider’s and Eridan’s wrists in his sweaty hands, twistisng until they both dropped their weapons. While Eridan choked back a cry of pain, Strider cursed him and wreathed his free hand in the red lightning, hurling it at the big man’s face—  
To no effect at all. “Forgive me, but the Helmsman instructed me, if you persisted in your belligerence, to inform you that on this vessel he is God and I am His messenger, and we are to be obeyed as such. And, his words, not mine, that if you do not heed that warning then I am to sit on you for the remainder of the trip, which will be about six hours. Do you understand?” They both nodded. “Excellent,” he said, and flung them back to their respective benches. He bent over and picked up the discarded weapons. “I’m confiscating these.”  
Eridan finally regained control of his tongue and shouted “That was my grandmother’s!”  
Strider shouted “I KNEW it!”  
The big man calmly replied. “They shall be returned when we arrive at the school,” and turned to leave, the door slamming shut behind him. The sword had sparked as he picked it up, catching his sleeve on fire, but he’d paid it no mind.  
After a few moments of stunned silence, the odd-eyed boy broke out into a cackling guffaw. ‘I’m gonna love this school!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be wondering what the Hell you just read. Okay, a few months ago, I discovered Homestuck, and it was good. A few months later, I invented this magic system based on colors to use in my original works. The mages had their own hidden society as well, like in Harry Potter, with social class based on your power level and your Color of magic. A few weeks ago, I realized that my magic system almost a perfect inversion of the hemospecturm, with Red and Green magi on top, Violet at the bottom, and Pink as some weird mutation, the exceptions being that Yellow and Brown are still on the bottom, Black and White exist in the middle, and Blue is forbidden. I wondered if I should make this at all, but I figured that half the things on MSPFA are more ‘in the style of Homestuck’ than straight-up fanfiction so I decided to give it a shot. I briefly considered calling this story “Why the Hell Am I Doing This?” but then I realized that Dave was already an ideal Red Mage with very little input on my part, I realized it was meant to be. In the next chapter we meet John, the ship arrives at school, and roommates are assigned. If you’re an Eridan fan (why?), don’t worry, he gets better. If you’re not an Eridan fan…don’t worry he gets better. If you’re a Dave fan, I’m sorry, he gets worse. Let me know what you think, I guess.


	2. And Why Does It Matter?

“Thank you very much for the hospitality, Lord Ampora,” said the Wizard John Egbert, a recent arrival to the castle, as he took a gulp of wine. He was dressed like a commoner and only a year older than Cronus by the looks of him, but Lord Ampora already allowed him a seat at his table and spent long hours listening to his council.  
“You are certain you must leave on the morrow?” Cronus’ father had a deep baritone and a thick, slurring brogue as one only finds in coastal Scotland. On another man the accent would make him seem foolish, but on Lord Ampora it made him sound mysterious and charming. He was a tall, proud, kingly man, a stern father, a barrel-chested warrior. He practically doted on Egbert, Cronus thought, watching. He and Mituna, one of the court players and Cronus’ favorite lackey, were spying from a hidden compartment in the wall, gazing through a tiny crack near the dark ceiling into Lord Ampora’s private chambers where he was sharing a drink with his guest, as they had ever since the guest had arrived. Cronus silently thanked God he was leaving.  
John had shown up one night during a terrible thunderstorm that had lasted for weeks, only two days since Eridan had left. Lord Ampora had been complaining of a terrible migraine during supper, exacerbated by the pounding of the waves against the castle walls and the sound of the thunder, both combined made the castle ring like a bell. The castle was small and medieval, so supper was held out in a great hall right next to the main doors; heavy oak reinforced with iron. Cronus, Mituna, and Eridan had loved to play at being knights there when they were children. Cronus had had a flashback to those days when the pounding grew louder and more focused, as if something massive were trying to break down the doors, like a battering ram. And it did.  
The squall blew into the room, splashing everyone with rain and just as suddenly died down, followed by John Egbert, striding in as if he belonged with a great, genuine smile as if he were a friend. John and his…entourage? Harem? Three women followed close behind him; two who were obviously twins despite their completely opposite demeanors, one with a beatific smile like a saint, red hair short and feathery, the other with a fierce scowl, whose equally red hair was a messy tangle reaching down to her waist. The third was a beauty with china-doll skin and what Cronus took for Oriental features. They were all dressed in simple clothes of blue.  
“Who the Hell are you?” Lord Ampora had roared, hand on his ancestral basket-hilt, as his bodyguards drew their hidden pistols and formed up in front of him.  
“I am John Egbert”, said the stranger, “And I’m sorry for making this sort of entrance, but it is late and we needed shelter from the rain, and your lovely home is the only one we could see through the storm upon our arrival.” None of them had even been wearing a hat, but they were bone dry.  
Lord Ampora had scoffed. “You arrived on the island so recently? It must have been a courageous or foolish captain to brave such a storm.”  
“We’ve been traveling a long time,” said John, “the weather was calm in Massachusetts when we set out.” He pulled some spectacles from his coat pocket, they were similarly shaped to Eridan’s. “And we did not come by ship,” he said, “we flew.” Lord Ampora glared a moment—and then roared with laughter, and then winced with pain as the sound of his own voice aggravated his migraine. “If it please my lord,” said the short-haired twin, “I can heal your ills, whatever they may be.” Her voice was like bells.  
Through grinding teeth, Lord Ampora had said “then do it and have done!”  
Approaching she said, “you are not surprised my Lord?”  
He barked a laugh. “My own mother was one of your kind, a white-witch, though not as powerful as your Egbert claims.” She nodded, and touched his forehead, humming a certain tone. Cronus had listened in on enough of his brother’s lessons with grandmother to know that healing magic was “White” and White magic required sounds. Something about synchronizing with ‘the music of the spheres’, whatever that was. There was a flash of white light and the guards all jumped, training their weapons on the girl.  
“Put down the poppers you idiots!” Lord Ampora snapped, “I’m feeling better than I have in years.” He drew himself up to his full lordly height. “Master Egbert. You wanted shelter? How about you and your women become my court magicians?”  
Egbert smiled, and said “I’d be honored my Lord, but I can only stay a short while. Of course if I can render any services to you at all it would be my pleasure.”  
“Very well,” Lord Ampora said. “You will be a guest in my house for as long as you require. I believe I have not introduced myself. I am Lord Hieronymus Ampora, Viscount of Dualscar.”  
Egbert nodded excitedly. “Even in the colonies we’ve heard the story of House Ampora. Your ancestor was a pirate with a fleet of a hundred ships, but he decided to take part in the Wars of the Roses on the side of the Tudors, and he was rewarded for his services by being forgiven his crimes and made Lord of his home island.”  
Lord Ampora smiled. “That’s the short version yes.” For many days since, the two enjoyed talking about their respective family histories in private. John was a quarter Indian, and had two sisters, neither of which were the ones with him. His grandfather on his father’s side had fought in King Phillip’s War on the side of Phillip and his grandfather on his mother’s side had fought for the colonists. When they met up years later, they’d had a good laugh about trying to scalp each other and arranged for their children to be married. But the discussion, Cronus found, always returned to his own family. The origin of their coat of arms; an argent seahorse rampant on a sable field, rising out of violet waves that looked more like scars than anything. The genealogies and history of the island, and finally, one night, what an absolute shame it was that such a mighty house had fallen. “You had so much more power as pirates than as peers,” he said, shaking his head, voice full of regret. Lord Ampora looked furious for a second, then nodded. They began talking in whispers for long periods of time for many nights after.  
Mituna told Cronus one day that in the first week, whenever Lord Ampora had suddenly changed opinions like that, the long haired twin, Vriska, had been present, but no so recently. Cronus had wanted to slap him, but honestly, all three of the girls seemed even more suspicious than Egbert himself. Cronus had tried to woo them each by turns after their arrival. Aranea, Vriska’s short-haired twin, the healer, had been delightfully flustered. “I’m sensible to the honor of your proposals,” she’d said with an adorable red bloom in her cheeks, “but I’m afraid I must decline.”  
The other girl, the pretty oriental, had simply glared at him until he left. She hadn’t even given him her name. Maybe she didn’t speak English?  
Vriska, however, had wrapped her fist in cloth and punched him in the stomach, much harder than she should have been able to, then stormed off while he ‘cast up his accounts’ all over the floor. He’d told nobody, because he didn’t want to admit to having been so soundly rejected and beaten all at once. Still, that girl was not right in the head; she was dangerous. And who knew what magic could do? Eridan had controlled a murder of crows once; they flew in formation above the village on the other end of the island and had a mock battle, and the townspeople were by turns amused and terrified, while the three boys had just been amused. Maybe Vriska could do something like that, but to people? But father was just acting uncharacteristically; he wasn’t like those birds had been, surely?  
And another thing he’d gleaned from Eridan’s lessons was that each Color of magic had its own set of powers and abilities, and that magi often wore their Color of magic like a nobleman would wear the colors of his house, but each of the visitors wore blue, and yet they could all do such different things. It all made so little sense.  
Mituna shook his shoulder and indicated that he should be listening more carefully. “So,” intoned his father, “You’ll be heading to London? And then you will enact your…plan?”  
“Actually,” said Egbert, a little red in the face from drink, but not too much, “We’ll be dropping off Mierfa. She’ll meet up with someone there, and in a few months we’ll be ready. You’ll know when to move.” He stood up and stumbled a little. “You’ve been very kind to us,” he said, bowing, “and we wish you all of the success,” he hiccupped. “All of it.”

Karkat and Kanaya were in awe of the Scholomance. It was like something out of a fairytale; an enormous white castle, glowing orange in the sunrise, with delicate spires tiled in blue, sitting on a proud stony mountaintop surrounded by pinewoods. An eagle cried somewhere in the distance. It was early summer, but at this altitude there were snowdrifts here and there. “What do you think,” Kanaya asked. Karkat did not answer. She turned to look at him; his eyes were nearly popping out of his head.  
He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but this place is far more majestic than is necessary or proper. I may well cast up my accounts if another eagle shows up.”  
“You’re disgusting Karkat,” said Kanaya.  
He shook his head. “I’m serious. There’s no hyperbole here. I can feel the gorge rising in my throat. If something else impossibly beautiful happens at this moment, I’m going to start worshiping the snow god—” There was a great creaking sound and a shadow passed over the two as a flying ship passed between them and the sun, creating a magnificent silhouette for an instant before it turned and splashed down in one of the deeper snowdrifts about fifty yards away. Karkat did not see the passengers disembark as he had run off towards some trees (Kanaya heard the sound of dry heaving, followed by painfully moist heaving).  
Old Scratch had ported them here, said a terse goodbye, and ported away, all in less than a minute, with instructions to wait for the first ship to arrive and then do whatever an adult told them. She picked up her bags and called for Karkat, who wiped himself on what was once a fine handkerchief, threw it back to the woods, and grabbed his single pack. Together, they headed towards the ship just as a second landed somewhere else. “Karkat, will you be alright?”  
“It’s all out of my system now,” he said, gagging. He straightened his grey tricorne, looking nervous. There’d been a village near their old home, far too long a walk to go with any regularity, but they’d been known there. Aside from meeting Old Scratch and each other, this would be their first time meeting new people.  
Kanaya looked at the passengers from the first ship. There were a few noble children, one of which looked like he’d gotten the worst of a fight, a merchant’s son in the same condition, a handful of common boys, one of whom needed crutches and was being assisted by some sort of giant, and a breathtakingly pretty blonde girl who was probably middle class, sitting on a pile of large wooden crates. The other ship disgorged a very regal looking girl in a mink stole talking avidly with another blonde who was wearing far too many layers even for the current level of cold. There were others of course, but they didn’t register, because at that moment the giant’s voice rang out; “Head for the castle as soon as you disembark, the Governor of the Scholomance is going to speak to you as soon as you all arrive.” The gates of the castle creaked open, golden candlelight spilling out onto the snow.  
Karkat grabbed Kanaya’s arm and said, “Let’s get out of the cold,” pulling her towards the gates, cutting straight through the group from the first ship. There was a thud, more felt than heard, as yet another ship landed, and just as they reached the doors, another.  
The castle had clearly been built with the intention that some wealthy nobleman would come live here for a season to hold wild parties; how it became a school was anyone’s guess. The main hall was tiled with marble and lined with portraits from every recent artistic movement. A magnificent crystal chandelier bigger than Karkat hung from the ceiling, still lit; it was the source of the glow seen from outside. There was a grand staircase carpeted in red, leading to the balcony. There stood the school staff; imperious looking men and women dressed in loud colors, in every conceivable style; an elegant lady in full court dress of tyrian with a fierce smile, a sad-looking man dressed like a medieval monk save that his robes were red as cherries, a man with teeth that were far too big dressed in black and blue leather wearing both a monocle and an eye patch, a woman in a very sleek form-fitting dress of red and teal that would have been scandalous had she not looked so professional, and many others. They were quickly joined by three of the ship captains and the giant. Kanaya wondered where the fourth was.  
As soon as the as the student set foot inside, the doors slammed shut and with a puff of smoke, the headmaster appeared. He was a tall, sallow skinned man with white eyes and very short brown hair. He wore very strange clothing; the sleeves of his black coat were so short you could see his arms, and there were no buttons at all. There was a strange white spiral pattern on the front. His eyes were milky white, but Kanaya could feel him staring. Everyone stared back.  
“Alright,” he said. He had a strange accent. “Look. I’m Governor of the Scholomance, Andrew Hussie, but I’m not going to be here most of the year; there are urgent matters in another universe that require my attention. (“he’s insane”, Karkat whispered) Instead, you listen to this lady, Mistress Latula Redglare.” he said, pointing to the lady in the sleek dress. There was some murmuring. “I know, it’s seventeen-something-or-other right now and you’re all a little sexist, but just calm the Hell down and let me tell you that she’s jointly Red and Green, she can summon an Ismeju, and is basically the fourth or fifth most powerful person in the universe right now, and probably the most competent. I suppose I should recap some things,” he cleared his throat and pulled out a sheet of very white paper. “Welcome to the Third European Scholomance. This is a new facility purchased from Freiheir Ludwig von Hammerstein since the previous one in Greece was destroyed when somebody,” he glared at the elegant woman in tyrian, “decided it would be a good idea to demonstrate the capabilities of Pink magic by summoning a monster from the outer dark and trying to kill it with a fork.”  
She sniffed. “I didn’t try, I succeeded.”  
“Whatever. On that note, the Freiheir only sold it to me because he ran out of money in the middle of construction. While the building is complete most of the rooms are bare stone, and brick where we put in walls. You’ll all be assigned a room number right now, reach into your pockets. Those of you without pockets now have pockets,” he said. Kanaya pulled out a card of stiff lined paper with a number sloppily written on it with blue ink, of all things. “You’ll all be sharing a room with someone else, unless we have an odd number of students. If you don’t like the person you can trade around, see if I give a damn, but only until you actually get to your dorms, then the arrangements will be locked in place forever, and note that dormitories are not coed, and attempting to make them coed will result in being turned into a pig.”  
Karkat tilted his head to the side like a confused dog, squinting his eyes. “Kanaya,” he whispered, “he’s talking like an apothecary, what the devil is he saying?”  
“I haven’t the slightest inkling,” she said. “But I think we’re not allowed to share a room?”  
“What?! Bollox,” he was still whispering, albeit loudly.  
“We didn’t share room before.”  
“We weren’t surrounded by strangers before,” he looked around suspiciously. “Look at that freak over there, doesn’t look trustworthy at all,” he said, pointing at the big man.  
“I believe he’s a staff member.”  
“That’s even worse! I’m going to say something,” he said, straightening his coat and striding forward. Kanaya grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back with surprising strength. “Please don’t!”  
He sighed. “Okay, but if anything happens to you, don’t come crying to me. Actually do, come crying to me immediately. Whoever it is I’ll feed them their own intestines.”  
She giggled. “Nothing is going to happen.”  
“I expect you to do the same,” he said, pointing at her.  
She laughed. “You plan to do a lot of crying?”  
“Absolutely. I’m going to weep like a child to the point of dehydration.”  
“You may also notice that I am speaking in English,” boomed the Governor, noticing that several similar conversations had broken out. “Yet you all still understand me despite being pan-European. That was a very tricky bit of magic and you should all take a second to thank me in a glorious display of multicultural unity.” He waited for a few seconds until everyone complied. “You’re welcome,” he said, winking. “Now,” he put on some very dark tinted spectacles and Kanaya wondered how he could see, “Peace out homies, it’s time for me to bounce, word up to your mother,” he made some obscure gesture and disappeared in a puff of smoke.  
Madame Redglare stepped forward into the space Hussie had occupied. “Those of you without totem objects form a line here at the foot of the stairs and Master Horus Zahhak will outfit you presently. The rest of you are free to mingle for the next fifteen minutes, after which you must go to your dormitories.”  
She went on to say more, but Karkat and Kanaya had drifted off again. “Damn opium, it just ruins men,” said Karkat, cradling his forehead. “The poor man has gone completely insane. It’d almost be amusing if it weren’t so sad.”  
“I’m going to go look for my roommate,” said Kanaya, “I’ll see you in a little while.” They hugged quickly, and she left.  
Just as she did, Karkat heard someone say “Good morrow, coz!” right in his ear. Karkat jumped a little as a bright faced boy dressed all in green faded into view.  
“Good Lord, there seems to be an epidemic of substance abuse,” snarled Karkat, “I shall make it my life’s goal to stamp out that foul weed,” he pounded his fist into his palm.  
“Extraordinarily diverting my ben cove,” said the boy. “My name is Jakob Anglika. Would you happen to have the room number 612, my good chum?”  
“No. What’s wrong with you?”  
A girl behind Karkat cleared her throat. He turned around to look at her. She was a bit overweight but had a very pretty face, with big doe eyes, long lashes and short, curly silver hair. “My brother taught himself to speak English from a collection of Shakespeare’s complete works. Not that it actually matters what language he speaks because of the spell, but he really enjoys it. We’re actually Greek see, but our father—”  
“Wonderful,” Karkat interrupted. “Do you know anyone with room number 111?”  
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “My name is Calliope, incidentally.”  
Karkat started walking away. “Oh,” she called out to him, “if you happen to share a room with my other brother, Caliborn, I suggest you trade with someone else immediately!”  
Jakob followed after Karkat, expounding with a cheerful tone, “he is a most churlish ruffian!”  
“Fine, I’ll be sure to avoid him.” There was a group of students dressed in red and green sitting in a circle directly under the chandelier, talking and laughing. He figured they must be as well informed as anybody, and approached them.  
“…yeah, he’s an absolute shit,” said one of them, a white haired boy wearing cracked spectacles who seemed to be the leader. His voice was very even and monotonous, yet still managed to project disdain. “But what can one expect from a feeble-colored dimwit with delusions of grandeur?” He noticed Karkat. “Good, another Red and Green to join our capital little gang. David Strider, by the way. Did you get a feeble-colored roommate as well? I’ve a friend going around making sure arrangements are suitable. If not then put your ass to anchor and have a chat—”  
Karkat interrupted him by asking “111 or 612? Anybody?”  
Strider chuckled. “You are most unlucky friend; that first numbr just happens to belong to the feeble-colored V-v-v-viscount I was just telling my friends about.” The rest of them laughed.  
Karkat pivoted on his heal without breaking stride and left. “I suppose he isn’t savvy to the way things need to be done around here,” Strider said.  
Jakob looked at him curiously. “Whoever a guy like that dislikes is probably pretty okay. Of course if he turns out to actually be an ass I’ll trade for someone else.”  
A surprisingly deep voice called out from the center of the group. “Jakob you little Green shit get over here and join your big brother!”  
Jakob made a face and whispered, “I shall feign I did not hear him—”  
Just as he was pushed to the ground and sat upon by Caliborn. He was the opposite of Calliope; they were the same height and general build, but while she was full, he was gaunt, his hair was straight and black, and though he had the same big doe eyes and curly lashes, his were a reddish brown instead of lively green. His coat, however, was black rather than red, which would have completed the dichotomy. Karkat got the feeling that that was a conscious choice. “I shall meet you on some later occasion, my friend! For now thou shouldst run,” said Jakob while his brother pinched his cheeks and laughed.  
Karkat rolled his eyes and went on his way, looking for his roommate, but was interrupted by a very petit girl who seemed to be dressed as a highwayman. “What is it?” She opened her mouth to say something, but then looked down, flushed. Karkat drew himself up to his full height. “Do you have a problem with me? Strider sent you after me because I wouldn’t join your little gang? I’ll have you know I was raised by the most powerful sorcerer in the world and I could absolutely destroy any one of you if necessary. It would be glorious, the destruction I’d rain down. A symphony of pure violence and mayhem that would leave you weeping in joyful amazement even as your body was crushed under your own weight as the forces of gravity turned against you and the iron in your blood exploded. You’d be left thanking me for providing you with the most beautiful and poetic death that could possibly be inflicted on one human being by another. If people could die more than once you would find all other deaths after it to be severely wanting. Shot in the head? Incinerated? Flayed alive? Child’s play, you will think. There’ll never be another death like Karkat—stop laughing!”  
The girl was in fact doubled over, laughing so hard that no sound was coming out. She unbent and handed him a bundle wrapped in a handkerchief. “For you,” she said, running away. She had a pretty accent. Karkat unwrapped the bundle. ‘The Lays of Marie de France? Why would I want—?”  
“Time’s up!” Redglare’s shout was so loud and clear it hurt Karkat’s ears. “Everyone ascend the staircase. Gentlemen’s dormitories are through the door on the far left, ladies’ on the far right.” Someone in the crowd had the testicular fortitude to shout, “And where do the commoners sleep?”  
Redglare lived up to her name and glared until the hall fell silent. “Come with me young man,” she said, descending the stairs. The crowd parted before her until she saw the lad, some overdressed ponce, Karkat thought, “And I shall show you.” She seized him by the ear and dragged him toward a small door at the bottom of the stairs. “Masters Zahhak, come along!” The impossibly big man and the man with the strange eye-wear followed her.  
Everyone ascended the stairs muttering to themselves about what had just happened. Karkat saw Kanaya and waved awkwardly, trying to hold his pack in one hand and the book in the other. He supposed he’d have most of the day to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Most of the Homestuck fanfics I’ve read in the past have been either some degree of sadstuck or a different session, which is odd since Homestuck is at least 55% comedy. Either way, I’m trying to see if I can make a more adventure oriented fic to appeal to the Jake English in us all. As to ‘Jakob Anglika’, I did that as a preemptive strike against people who will accuse me of using Shakespearean language. Just don’t call it Old English or I’ll break out my Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales” and then you’ll be sorry. Yes, I am using ancestors, dancestors, regular old fashioned trolls, the goddamned canon fantrolls, kids, post-scratch kids, guardians, cherubs; I’m even combing some into on character and dividing others up into more without rhyme or reason or any regard to actual canon familial relationships. I’m like God now, or at least Hussie (who is a multiversal constant, just like the jujus). More exciting things will happen in the next chapter. We’ll get to see Scratch be badass, the Blue conspirators be mysterious, and what it was like to be a magery apprentice between 1700 and 1750. Please tell me what you think.  
> And if anyone gets the joke with the book, even if you think it’s awful, I LOVE YOU.


	3. No, Seriously, What's a Solomonar?

The good Doctor, last of the Solomonari, known to some as Old Scratch, raised his rod, aglow with white-hot flames, as if it were a conductor’s baton. He whistled a note that made harsh dissonance with the sounds of the universe, the tension snapping and lashing out like a whip of fire towards his foe. Music is everything, even combat.  
The monster was a twisted thing from the outer dark. Old Scratch had lured it to an empty field, far from the village it had been terrorizing, and here he would kill it. At first it had been a formless mass of writhing tendrils, but it was assuming more and more complexity as time went on. Only the size of a man, it was the equivalent of a virus, as far as things from Over There can be equivocated with things from Over Here. This presented advantages and disadvantages; it could be killed for one. But it evolved very quickly, and if it stayed alive long enough, it would breed.  
The monster stood up from the puddle of molten glass its immediate surroundings had been reduced to, quickly regenerating from its injuries. At the moment it was trying to assume Old Scratch’s form. Its body was molded into the approximation of a tall, narrow man in a suit, albeit a suit made of tentacles. There was a strip of something red and moist that it had wrapped around its white, maggot-like neck in a parody of a tie. Its head was the most interesting part however; it seemed the curse on the Doctor’s face that made others forget it worked on creatures from Over There, since the creature’s attempt at a head was a mere faceless blob of white, almost perfectly round. “Is that what people see me as?” Old Scratch thought aloud.  
The creature raised its hands; pale, spidery, slender things tipped with claws, and did something similar to a finger-snap, temporarily forming a bubble of the no-color of the outer dark, which promptly exploded into black fire and a hideous shrieking sound. Scratch raised his rod and shielded himself from the blast. “Oh dear,” he thought, hand on his chin. “It’s trying to replicate my magic as well.” He held his rod above his head like a scorpion’s stinger. “We can’t have that, can we?” He swung his rod like a sword, extinguishing the black flames, and then leveled it like a pistol. He whistled once more, a high, piercing sound most humans can’t produce, and fired a bolt of lightning. Other magi could channel electricity, but only a Solomonar or equivalent could make true lightning. For an instant there was a connection between Scratch, his rod, and the monster, a chain of light hotter than the sun, a cone of sound solid enough to break men’s bones, a line of fire where the dry grass had spontaneously ignited.  
When light and sound returned to their proper levels an instant later, the beast was staggered, missing most of its left torso as well as the arm, but it was not nearly dead.  
Scratch tsked. “A bit off center. I should have put on my reading glasses.” With great exertion the monster was already building itself replacement limbs, though much cruder ones. A thick, thorny tentacle was sprouting from its savaged chest, and elsewhere on its body. Its face was splitting open along the axis to make a mouth. “It’s really for the best,” said Scratch. “An enemy with no face, while certainly frightening enough, isn’t particularly effective. One wonders how you’ve been eating the local livestock. Osmosis? A distinct possibility.”  
The creature snarled, spitting out flecks of black goo, revealing three of its tongues. “I would have liked to capture you for study,” continued Scratch, “but it seems you’ve carried off a child or two in your days here. I’m afraid you have to be put down.” He examined his rod. It was three feet long, narrowing to a point on one end, made of ivory inlaid with silver. He plunged it into the ground. And began to sing; a summoning was much more complex than conjuring fire and lightning. The words did not matter, only the harmony he was creating with the music of the spheres. Behind Scratch, a massive red form began to take shape.  
The creature, even with its lack of eyes, was transfixed by the new arrival. It began to change its form yet again, its face becoming elongated and crocodilian, the tendrils on its back molding into the shape of crude bat wings, clumsily pushing itself into the air.  
But what Scratch was summoning was an Ismeju, the highest order of dragon, and nothing could stand against it. It stood on its hind legs like a man, three stories tall, holding a gleaming spear in its left claw. It was clad in shimmering ruby scales, and on its forehead was a jewel the size of a watermelon glowing with gold and silver light. Its eyes were closed as if in peaceful sleep, wafer thin slivers of red light seeping from underneath its lids, cutting through the air like knives. “Cherrytail,” said Scratch, a little winded from the exertion. He tore a strip from the hem of his suit and tied it around his eyes. “It’s time for a snack,” he said, dropping to the ground and covering his head. The Ismeju slowly, inexorably, opened its eyes; it liked to cook its food.

“….and in the year 1400 before Christ, Odin the Solomonar struck down the last of his rivals and unified the peoples of Nordic Europe under his banner, and his dynasty lasted for seven hundred years. Each king after him was named Odin and was believed to be his reincarnation; until the Christianization of the region over two thousand years later the small-folk of the region worshipped him as the king of the gods. Following this period was the advent of iron among….”  
Karkat was intensely bored, mostly because he knew all of this already. When you’re raised by an immortal, you learn more about history from the funny stories he tells about his schoolmates than you ever could from an actual historian. According to Old Scratch, Odin had apparently been a drunken lout and something of a brawler, until he lost an eye and became melancholy and existential. He’d been the only Solomonar to wear black during his traveling years, the only one to settle down, and became a king almost by accident; when rival villages attacked his village, he defeated them so soundly that they’d just decide to follow him right there on the spot, which led other villages to form alliances and make preemptive strikes against the ‘conqueror’, where the same thing would happen again until the Celts down south just decided to leave him alone. Karkat just wanted to get back to his book.  
Right next to him on the table however, Eridan was taking notes with savage intent. He was already halfway through their shared inkwell (one would think magi could invent pens with ink inside them, but Karkat had been laughed out of Horuss Zahhak’s office for the proposal). It all stemmed back to their first conversation around two weeks ago.  
Karkat had found his room, and, without looking, thrown his pack at one of the beds. The rooms were small and bare, with one brick wall as promised, a tiny window to let in the sunlight, and two beds on opposite ends of the room. The one he’d thrown his pack onto was occupied. Eridan sat up with a jolt. “I am trying to rest sir!” He threw the pack back to Karkat, which hit him heavily in the chest.  
“Calm your ass down,” snarled Karkat, “I didn’t see you!” He went over to the opposite bed and began crudely shoving the entire pack into the chest in front of the footboard, awkwardly holding his book to his chest with his chin. “So you must be the Viscount,” he said, “I’m Karkat Van—”  
And with that he was shoved against the wall, dropping the book onto the chest. “Listen here,” Eridan hissed, “you Reds think you can shove me around and mock my nobility, but I’m not going to stand for it! After a whole night of that bastard’s abuse, I can see you all for what you really are; a bunch of petty, WEAK, thugs playing at being important. If you thought it would be trim sport to bunk with the stutterer, the feeble-color, then I can tell you that you made a mistake. I am the Honourable Eridan Ampora, son of Viscount Dualscar, and—”  
Karkat shoved him back, tripping him over the corner of the bed. Eridan took a nasty crack to the elbow on the stone floor. Karkat jumped up onto his bed and glared down at Eridan, eyes glowing with magical power. The surprise of being shoved against the wall had kept Karkat from hearing most of the first part of Eridan’s speech, but he had heard the other boy calling him weak, and from there rage had blocked out the rest. “I won’t be called weak by some ponce who doesn’t know B from bullshit sir! I was trained by the most powerful wizard in the world, and I’ve forgotten more than most of you people will ever know. So what if I can only do magic when I’m angry? You people are making me angry enough that I should be able to pull the sun down from the sky by the weekend and watch this whole shit-pile melt into glass!”  
Eridan felt himself grow heavier and heavier with each word. He could barely move, and the pressure was making his elbow feel as if it were about to shatter. He heard something crack; he looked around and saw a long, black fissure forming from the bottom of Karkat’s wall to the ceiling; another formed just above him, spilling a tiny amount of dust onto his face. Some went into his mouth. Karkat had made him the center of a vast gravity well. The boy’s eyes were crackling with red lightning. He was still ranting. “—and I wish I understood why you all think Color is so important! I’m wracking my brain trying to see how; everybody can do everything it’s just an affinity! It would be as if right-handed people thought left-handed people were below them! That capitaldouche Strider was disgusted at the IDEA of you for example, and now here you are hating me for being Red!?”  
Eridan could barely breathe. Then Karkat’s voice changed, growing suddenly quiet, a distant expression on his face. “That’s it then. Everyone dies.” The room started shaking violently as Karkat’s entire body began to emit the red lightning. Then the book fell off the bed, landing open, facedown, with a heavy thud. Karkat was distracted by the sound and immediately the magic left him; the rush of it going out of his body left him dizzy and Karkat fell down, landing hard on Eridan.  
“Get the fuck off of me you bloody lunatic!” Eridan screamed, slugging Karkat in the chest and crawling to the other side of the room as fast as possible.  
“What happened?” Karkat asked, groggily.  
“Stop it! Just stop mocking me,” Eridan shouted, on the verge of tears. Karkat sat up in a lotus position. “What are you doing?” snapped Eridan.  
“Assuming a non-threatening posture. What’s wrong?”  
Eridan stared at him for a full minute before saying “I hate you.”  
Karkat nodded. “I’m not easy to get along with.”  
“You’re mad is what you are.”  
“No, tell me what happened.”  
Eridan growled. “Fine, I’ll play your little game! You made fun of me, so I told you off, then you went insane and tried to kill me and everyone else with magic!” He pointed at the crack on the wall for emphasis. “Look what you did.”  
Karkat looked. “That was like that.”  
“I hate you and I hate this school, and I want to go home,” said Eridan, crossing his arms.  
Stop acting like a child,” Karkat snapped. “They’ll never treat you seriously unless you act like a man.”  
Eridan snarled, pointing at Karkat. “I thought you didn’t remember anything! J’accuse!”  
“It’s coming back to me,” said Karkat in an indifferent tone, picking up the book, and straightening the pages. “It’s like a half-remembered dream, and mostly I remember it not happening, if that makes sense. That’s my problem with time magic, I can only make it affect myself. You must have really made me take the owl for me to be able to do it at all. I probably looked like God’s own revenge against murder. It must have been most terrifying. I hope you’re happy.” He started to read. He found that even though it was in French, the language ward allowed him to understand that too. It was a collection of knightly romances from the middle ages. After a few minutes Eridan spoke again.  
“There’s only two things Strider and his gang respect,” he said, shaking his head, “and one of them’s not manhood. Just Color and power.”  
“Oh goodness gracious,” said Karkat in a high falsetto, not quite putting his heart into it because he was still trying to read. “If only we existed in some sort of world where knowledge is literally power! Then the obvious solution would be to stay in school and learn faster than your tormentors can! Alas, we live in a world where magic has an attribute of insubstantiality so powerful that it is completely dominant, and no amount of hoping and praying can make it be otherwise.” He continued to try ignoring Eridan, but Eridan wouldn’t let him.  
“That simple is it?” Eridan chuckled. “Can…you help me?”  
“What!?”  
“You’ve forgotten more than I’ll ever know? Those were your exact words,” said Eridan, grinning. “Who is this master magician that raised you?”  
Karkat groaned. The book was actually good, and now he’d never get to read it. “The last Solomonar.”  
“Ah,” said Eridan, nodding as if he understood. “And what is a Solomonar?” Karkat sighed and put the book away, and began tutoring Eridan Ampora.

John hadn’t known what he was doing when he fought the old weather-mage, and he’d ended up with the other man’s powers. Blue magic by itself is such a small, fragile thing; the magical elite would call him a feeble-color if it weren’t so dangerous. The power flowing into his body that day had almost burned John to ashes, and still threatened to, some day, if he wasn’t careful.  
For nigh on three years John had wandered the Earth, hunted and hated for his gift, with no direction or purpose, drifting on his stolen winds. Until one day he stopped at a little seaside village in Greece. White clay buildings topped with blue tiles standing in sharp relief against the black of the cliffs. It was there he met his first and most loyal followers, met his true love, and learned of the plight of his people.  
“They hurt us John,” she whispered in his ear one night. “They hunt us and hate us. When they catch a Blue mage they have her hanged and burned and scattered to the four winds. They write her name on a lead scroll and nail it to a tree so her spirit won’t come back. They call us witches. You weren’t raised among magical people, you don’t know, but that is a deadly insult.” She raised her left hand; a mass of clockwork and wires. “They hurt me John. See? Are you going to let them get away with it?” Her blue eyes looked into his. They were so intense and contained such ferocity that most people couldn’t stand to look her in the eye; John loved that about her eyes.  
“No,” he said, kissing her softly. “No I won’t.” He’d found a purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BWAHAHAHAHAHA. Sometimes I wonder whether it’s worth it to continue writing at all and think I should just give up. Then Doc Scratch fights Slenderman and I realize that yes, yes it is. Incidentally, this has a few less views than my most popular original story on another site, but at the time of this writing that story has existed for three months and is nine chapters long while this one has been up four days and is three chapters long, so in proportion this is far and away my biggest hit. Wow. Just, wow. Many questions were raised in this chapter, and none will be answered reasonably soon. This chapter was also shorter than the others, yet it had three ‘episodes’ instead of two. Do you all like it when chapters skip around multiple characters like that, or would you rather I have an episode per chapter? It would update faster that way, and that’s important because I’m starting to come down off that ‘new project’ high and can’t be updating almost every day like I have. Leave your opinion at the door.


	4. That Was Dumb and Confusing, Make Someone Do Something.

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! THIS IS THE END FOR YOU SISTER! I’M GOING TO TEAR YOUR THROAT OUT WITH MY TEETH AND BOTTLE YOUR HOT ARTERIAL BLOOD, AND THEN USE IT TO WRITE LETTERS TO MY FRIENDS!” Caliborn’s roaring laughter was so loud that a crowd quickly formed around him and his sister as they prepared for their final climactic battle, here in the South courtyard of the Scholomance, whose unusually high walls made it difficult to see from most of the main building. His hair was in disarray and his suit was disheveled; there were dark bags under his eyes as if he had spent the whole night awake in anticipation.  
On the verge of tears, Calliope confronted her twin brother. “You are absolutely horrid Caliborn! This is very difficult for me to say,” she said, sniffing, “but I hate you! I hate you with all of my heart! I’ve tried to make peace with you so many times but I honestly think you are incapable of love and should be destroyed for the general welfare of society. The world will actually spontaneously become a better place as soon as you are gone from it! I should kill you for what you’ve done!” With a look of determined resignation, she withdrew a pair of jingle bells, each the size of an apple; one made of silver, one made of gold. “But I can’t bring myself too! My better nature is winning out over the absolute justice of this course of action, so I’m going to give you one last chance! Just give it back and you won’t have to die!”  
“YES! HATE ME! FEAR ME—”  
“I’m not afraid of you, you hideous lout—”  
“HATE KEEPS A MAN ALIVE,” he said, ignoring her, “EVEN IF THE MAN IS ACTUALLY A WOMAN—”  
“You’re an idiot! Now just give it back!”  
He pulled a large leather bound book from his coat pocket. “WHAT, THIS!? IT’S TOO LATE YOU KNOW! I ALREADY MADE COPIES AND DISTRIBUTED THEM TO MY MINIONS. THEY THINK IT’S FUCKING HILARIOUS HOW BAD YOU ARE AT STORYTELLING. AND THE MAIN CHARACTER IS BASICALLY JUST YOU WITH A MISSPELLED NAME, HOW UNCREATIVE IS THAT? DAMARA ABSOLUTELY HATES HOW YOU USE ALL THESE COLORED INKS, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? AND MIXING IN PICTURES TO TELL PART OF THE NARRATIVE WAS A BOLD MOVE ADMITTEDLY, BUT YOU EITHER UNDERUTILIZED IT OR OVERUTILIZED IT, DEPENDING ON IF YOU ASK BRODERICK OR JEFFREY. AND TEREZI SAYS THERE WERE TOO MANY CHARACTERS INTRODUCED TOO EARLY, AND SOME OF THE STUFF YOU ESTABLISHED DIDN’T EVEN PAY OFF UNTIL LONG AFTER WE’D ALREADY FORGOTTEN ABOUT IT (BUT OTHERWISE IT APPEALED GREATLY TO HER STYLE OF HUMOR AND SHE IS EXCITED FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENT)! YOU ASK US, THE READERS, TO MAKE FAR TOO MANY ASSUMPTIONS ABOUT THE WAY YOUR INVENTED WORLD WORKS WITHOUT EVER TAKING THE TIME TO EXPLAIN, BUT THEN YOU GO ON A TWENTY PAGE RANT ABOUT HOW THE SELENITES ORGANIZE THEIR SOCIETY BY THE SIZE AND COLOR OF THEIR EARS AND THE WAY THEY MANAGE THEIR WEIRD MULTIFACETED ROMANCES EVEN THOUGH THAT WOULD HAVE ACTUALLY BEEN BETTER TO FIND OUT GRADUALLY—”  
The entire time he was speaking, Calliope was releasing a loud keening wail up to the cold morning sky, but once he started mocking her most precious creations, she snapped, and lunged at him, head down like a bull. Caliborn shouted “YES!” and took a swing at her, but she rolled out of the way while he overextended himself and fell flat on his face. “PRETTY SPRY FOR A FAT BITCH,” he spat.  
“Pretty clumsy for a heartless skeleton monster,” she said, blowing a raspberry. Caliborn screamed an animalistic cry and produced his astrolabe, which began to crackle with Red energies. Calliope swung her bells around her in a rhythmic pattern, moving her body in a mesmerizing dance of concentric circles, preparing to conjure her patron spirits. Caliborn drew up iron from the ground, tearing up the paving of the courtyard like tissue paper, welding the iron dust into a crude, barbed spear, crackling with electromagnetism. Calliope summoned her spirits, the monstrous Ouroboros, hungrily chewing on its tail, gleaming like an emerald, and the stately Cherub with its four faces and its thousand eyes.  
“CALLIOPE!” Shouted Caliborn.  
“Caliborn!” Shouted Calliope.  
“FUCK YOU!” They shouted in conjunction.  
“Masters Anglika,” announced Equius as he waded through the crowd. “Your other brother told me that you were fighting out here,” he said, picking up Calliope and tucking her under one arm while gently pulling the bells from her hands. “Forgive me miss, I’m afraid I must confiscate your items.”  
“TRY IT AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS,” shouted Caliborn, hurling his conjured spear at Equius, against whose magic-proofed skin it simply crumbled back to iron dust. Equius rather more roughly took away Caliborn’s astrolabe and tucked him under his other arm, where he immediately started biting, howling, and scratching like a mad dog, or a wet cat. “FUCK THE POLICE!”  
“Don’t tell our parents!” Calliope begged.

“I take it that’s why you don’t rusticate with your siblings often,” said Kanaya upon learning of the occurrence from Jakob. The two of them, plus Eridan and Karkat, were sitting in an empty classroom full of massive copyist’s desks that had never been used.  
“S’truth,” said Jakob. “They’re always trying to win me over to one side or another during their scrums, but in all honesty I could never choose, they’re both such delightful people! Tis best to simply keep one’s distance, and them from committing murder.” The two continued frittering away their time on inessentials while their friends dedicated themselves to the studies of transformative magicks, in which Eridan was having difficulties. Karkat did his best to encourage him.  
“Sweet merciful God and all His angels Eridan! You really are incapable of rational thought aren’t you?” Karkat’s dulcet tones rang out across the small space. “See, here I believed that you possessed a human level of intelligence, but it seems in actuality you’re just some manner of ape that wandered into some lordling’s closet one day and decided to play the role! By the time you were accepted into an institution of learning you were too far into the lie to turn back, but now you have to deal with the fact that you don’t actually have the capacity to learn anything!”  
Eridan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”  
“Karkat, have you ever been in love?”  
Karkat produced a small leather canteen, drained it in one long pull, and then slapped Eridan in the face with it. “Now you list the seventy-two canonical transformations of Sun Wukong or so help me God I will wreak such a vengeance upon you for wasting my time—”  
Eridan stood up so quickly that he knocked over his chair. “Karkat, please, I can’t concentrate ever since she entered my mind. When I first saw her I thought she was pretty enough but now it’s as if that tiny little thought has taken root and sprouted into a full blown obsession! She’s like an illness that I never want to cure—”  
“Literally yesterday you said that you could afford no distractions from your studies and suddenly you’re smitten with some girl—”  
Eridan shook Karkat’s shoulders. “She’s not some girl! She’s my soulmate! God crafted us as one being and then split us into two separate bodies to prove His divine power! Tell me what I should do, please!” He dropped to his knees, hugging Karkat’s legs.  
Karkat slapped himself on the forehead. “You fickle bastard. Let go of me right now.” He sighed. “What do you even want me to do about it?”  
“Well, you’ve been reading that book on romance—”  
“KNIGHTLY romance! Not that kind of romance—”  
“I know what things are Karkat! I just need some chivalric overture to rock her to her very core, and then at last I can court her,” Eridan stood up and struck a dramatic pose. “Then with her at my side, I shall become the most powerful sorcerer in the world.”  
Karkat made a noise of barely restrained anger. ‘If we talk about your poor lonely soul will you get back to your studies?”  
“Yes,” he said, shaking his head vigorously.  
“What’s her name?”  
Eridan laughed. Then he thought hard for a moment, rubbing his chin. At last, he shrugged.  
“Have you spoken to her?”  
Eridan adjusted his scarf a little. “You see Karkat, among the noble classes it’s considered rude to simply approach a lady—”  
Karkat glared at him until he stopped talking. “How did you fall so head over heels for a girl with whom you’ve never spoken and whose name you don’t even know?”  
“I pity you Karkat,” said Eridan, a wistful smile playing across his face. “You who don’t know how it feels to be in love. When I saw her that night, I can swear she was glowing in the moonlight—”  
“Wait, Aradia?” Karkat was puzzled. “I thought you said she had a heart of ice.”  
“Who? No! I’m completely past her now, forever,” Eridan asserted.  
“And if you know I’ve never been in love, then why do keep asking my advice?”  
Ignoring his friend, Eridan went on to say “I was struck to the bone by her beauty as she stood in the moonlight and I felt like one dead! Her skin so pale, and her hair like the black mass of the night sky itself!”  
“You’re doing that thing where you’re really bad at poetry—”  
Eridan snapped his fingers. “And that’s where you come in Kar!”  
“Wait, I have a nickname now?”

Sollux Captor’s case was a special one. While the majority of magi have one predominant Color of magic in which they specialize, Sollux had two, both equally prominent. In these rare cases, the two colors are often complimentary, as in the opposite ends of a color wheel. Sollux was no exception, being jointly Yellow and Violet, both a plantmage and a beastmage. Unlike others of his kind however, who can simply do two things equally well, Sollux’s abilities manifested themselves differently. As a result, his education largely took place away from his fellow students. He would attend morning etiquette with other students from non-magical backgrounds, and history, and all of the other hands-off classes, but mostly he was left to his own devices, instructed to spend afternoons learning what he could do and reporting it to an authority figure in the evening. Sometimes he relished in his uniqueness, other times he believed himself to be a dangerous freak. Mostly, he worked with the bees in the greenhouse, but it is not yet time to hear about that. Most plantmagi take care of their plants, but Sollux communed with them, and most of them like to take the long view, and they agreed that his work with the bees would not be important for quite some time, and that perhaps you should leave, satisfied with whatever information you may have gleaned. Maybe you should go see Gamzee Makara. “He’s here?” you ask, baffled. Yes, he is, he came in on the fourth boat. He likes to keep to himself sometimes. Now go away. You doff your cap ironically, and then leave, muttering under your breath.

“Everything is so motherfuckin’ beautiful,” said Gamzee, taking a swig of absinthe. The age of consent was thirteen in most of the world, but Hussie had stricter policies for some reason. So imagine Gamzee’s delight when he discovered an entire cellar full of the sweet miracle elixir. His smile was so wide that you could barely see the scars at the corners where it’d been split open once, leaving a perpetual rictus. “Here, have a taste cousin,” he said, proffering the bottle to Tavros.  
“Um, well, you see, we are not really supposed to be, drinking, and the like. Also, um, I don’t really want to. I tasted some of, well, my dad’s liquor, once, and it made me sick for days, so I don’t, actually, partake, I guess is what I’m trying to—” Gamzee popped the bottle into Tavros’s mouth while he was busy talking.  
“There we go little motherfucker. You need open up your mind to all the miracles going on all around you and just rusticate like a proper villain,” said Gamzee in as soothing a voice as he could manage. Tavros fell over backwards, eye’s dilated, spilling a great deal of the absinthe.  
“Icanseethroughtime,” he said.  
Gamzee chuckled, “Yeah, I remember my first time too. This shit is some absomotherfuckinlutely straight villainous shit. Watchoo lookin’ at?” He lay down as well. Up above, there was a mass of spider webs and dust completely obscuring the ceiling. “It’s like a whole motherfucking city up there.” He reached out with his consciousness and communed with the spiders, “Come on down little brothers,” he said. Slowly, hundreds of them began to descend from the ceiling on tiny silver lines of webbing. “I’ma ask them to make you a scarf. You ever had something made of spider-cloth? It feels on your skin like motherfuckin’ miracles. In cloth form.”  
“Whydoyoutalklikethat?”  
Gamzee chuckled an easy chuckle as the spiders began to weave in a spectacular aerial dance. “You ever seen a trapeze act? This is like that but somehow even motherfuckin’ better. And every villain talks like this where I’m comin’ from. That’s Louisiana by the way, big French colony. We’re gonna rule the motherfuckin’ world one day, but it’s all gonna be proper villainous. Absinthe for everybody, then no more wars.”  
Tavros began to hyperventilate. “AmIgoingtodie?”  
“You really can’t hold your liquor can’t you? Just let the green fairy in, open up your mind to some real villainous shit, then we’ll be able to find our way out of here,” he reached out to pat Tavros’s shoulder, but didn’t want to look away from the spiders, they were working for him after all, so he ended up patting the other boy’s dead knee.  
Tavros sank a little ways into the stone floor of the cellar, then stopped. “You’relosttooIthoughtyouliveddownhere?”  
“Whoa villain, you’s a Bronze? That shit’s so rare it’s like a whole other miracle. I’s real lucky to have a friend who’s Bronze.”  
“You’retheonlyonewhothinkssothatAnglikakidsaidmymotherhadcongresswithanogreandthathurtmyfeelingswaitarewereallyfriends?”  
“Scarf’s comin’ along real good. God willing you’ll look like a real motherfuckin’ villain in that shit I promise,” and with that he did turn towards Tavros. “Course we’re friends little motherfucker. And just ‘cause I live down here don’t mean I know everything about the place. I like it that way, not knowing,” he started to change. “It’s like every day there’s a—”  
“Miracle?”  
Gamzee nodded, sitting up. A goat’s horns, elegantly curved, poked through his head as he removed his shoes, exposing feet that were clearly expanding into hooves.  
Tavros rolled over onto his side to look, ear pressed to the floor. “Areyouthedevil? Doyouworshipthedevil? You’regoingtosacrificemetothedevil,” he said, not quite as worriedly as he should have been.  
“That’s three words; you’re comin’ down real quick. Nah, I’m a pantheist. I believe every motherfucker has a little piece of the truth in his heart,” he got up and stretched. His knees bent the wrong way, and there was a bit of fur poking out under the cuffs of his pants. “I always figured I was a satyr at heart. I figure this is my real form and that human skin I got is just because God gave me the power to be whatever I want. He’s a real proper villain, God. The properist.”  
Tavros nodded. “Then why don’t you change your face, if you can change the rest of you?”  
Gamzee shrugged. “It feels like cheating if I do that, or like lying. I can go around being a human ‘cause that’s polite. But covering my scars is like pretending they ain’t ever happened.” He stopped for a second, thinking with a beatific smile on his face. “I live down here ‘cause I caused a ruckus on the first day I think? I don’t like who I am when I’m sober. I’m sorry if something I did hurt you or one of your friends little villain.”  
Tavros had a glazed, sleepy look on his face. “I know the way out now. The stones told me. I could never talk to them before; they’re so wise Gamzee. They’ve been around since the very beginning….”  
Gamzee nodded, asking, “You want me to take you outside then?”  
Tavros thought for a moment. “No, not yet,” he said, looking up at the spiders. The scarf looked like liquid silver.

London, Outside St. James’s Palace. Mierfa sat on a stone in the park, cutting her nails with a pocket knife. A man approached bearing the mark of their order. She had never seen him before, but the little sigil of seven orbs on his forehead marked him as hand-chosen by John, Vriska, or Aranea, and that was good enough for her. Only another person with the sigil could see the sigil.  
She nodded to him, indicating he should sit on the bench across from her. He was a tall, handsome blond man, extravagantly dressed in a loudly orange Indian suit and burgundy cape, with an oddly shaped monocle. He sat. Mierfa produced a handful of porcupine quills, and began breaking them very carefully.  
“What are you doing?” he asked. His voice was deep and rough, but oddly soothing. She ignored him and continued. Once they were all properly broken, she split the skin on her fingertip with her pocket knife, dripping a single drop of blood onto each break, then throwing them haphazardly onto the ground. “Taking the auspices?”  
Mierfa nodded slowly. While anyone could potentially have any Color, the uses of magic were not universal. Western Blue magi made very active use of their power, while easterners like herself had far more subtle uses for the art. She clicked her tongue and the quills ignited in a burst of azure fire. She read the smoke and the patterns left on the ground.  
The man had continued talking. “I’m Orange, myself. Not a very common color at all. In fact I think I may be the only one,” he leaned back. “My father thought I was a monster. But he would have been able to stand it if not for certain of my…personal preferences.”  
Mierfa raised an eyebrow. The man gave a roguish grin. “He sent me away with the Merchant Adventurers, hoping I would die somewhere of dysentery or a native arrow. I didn’t.”  
He didn’t speak again for a while, and Mierfa didn’t prod him. She took out a brush and some paper and made note of her findings. She was merely passing the time, confirming what she already knew. Tonight was an auspicious night, and a royal wedding to boot. But Prince Frederick would never get to make Augusta his princess. She and the blond man would have to move soon, and Mierfa had the time down to the very second.  
“They say in India,” the man began, “that Krishna would take all the milkmaids in a village out into the wilderness for a midnight dance. He made himself plentiful, so every one of them could dance with him at once. But as soon as one of them started to think that he was hers alone, all the Krishnas would vanish and the fire would go out and the milkmaids would be left in darkness.” He smiled. “Presumably they would proceed to beat the living shit out of whichever one of them had gotten too clingy.”  
Mierfa cracked a smile. The man drew a sword, a heavy scimitar covered in markings like water. “Damascus steel, nearly unbreakable. They say the base iron fell from the sky as a meteor. They say the blacksmith meditated for a hundred days before beating it into shape, folding the sword ten-thousand times and cooling it in a barrel of holy water from the Ganga. It can slice through the barrel of a musket in a single stroke, and cleaves lesser metals as if they were paper.” He sheathed it. “All of those things were said by me.”  
Mierfa nearly laughed out loud, but then she stood up, determined. The time had come. She walked towards the palace, drawing her nunchaku with a grim expression on her face, followed by Dirk, no, a plurality of Dirks. They had a country to overthrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically Prince Frederick married Augusta in April and this is late summer or early fall, but just consider this a fanfic to all of reality and not just Homestuck. Also, you may notice that Mierfa is out of character; normally she would have responded to a new arrival by spontaneously combusting (laugh damn you). Nothing…actually happened this chapter, did it? it was mostly just filler and fluff, me trying to get the character’s voices right (and I’m still trying for a lot of them, maybe I should have tried something with blander characters; by the way Karkat’s slightly-less-angry-than-canon is going to be a plot point), except for that bit at the end. I wasn’t going to have Dirk originally, but then I realized that he’d be Orange in my world, which would actually be almost in line with his canon Prince of Heart powers. Some other characters, you may have noticed, have canon powers, most of those are Blue magi, whose powers I have yet to explain. Next chapter, we go to the opera, and have a competition, and maybe plot finally starts happening.  
> And the idea of Caliborn doing literary criticism just tickled me so much that I had to do it, I’m sorry. And Calliope’s book is a mixture of Homestuck and A Princess of Mars, in a new genre she calls “Scientific Romance”. Pff. It’ll never catch on! (if you comment I will feel validated as a person)


	5. What’s the Deal With Blue Anyway?

In ancient Greece, witches had ridden on chariots pulled by dragons, or so the legends say. The Blue triumvirate however, had flown across the channel carried by the winds, landing in Paris days ahead of the destruction soon to fall on London. John had been tickled by the idea though, thinking it to be incredibly badass, and promised to get one for Aranea one day after she mentioned it. For now however, the image had reminded him of the ending scene in Rinaldo, which he’d seen in Hanover the year before, and now he was determined to see an opera.  
“Really John?” Vriska raised a quizzical eyebrow. “An opera? We’re here to destabilize one of the great nations of the earth and you want to see an opera?”  
He nodded. “It’ll be fun!” They stood on the dingy streets of one of the lesser neighborhoods in Paris at twilight. Nearby, a tattered, graffitied poster announced, to John’s infinite joy, the arrival of Rinaldo to some local theater at an affordable rate.  
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand why you like the stupid things. Overweight people singing their lungs out for fifty hours at a time and taking forever to die.” Aranea felt a mixture of irritation and happiness spilling over the twin bond. Like many magical siblings the two of them were empathically linked, though it seemed that Aranea felt Vriska’s emotions more strongly than Vriska felt hers.  
John counted off on his fingers the reasons he loved opera. “The pageantry is fantastic; at the Royal Prussian Theater you feel like you’re one of the characters. You have not even heard signing until you’ve heard Farinelli performing Julius Caesar. Finally, Rinaldo. Just, Rinaldo. We are so lucky that it’s in town. Handel is a damned musical genius, Rossi is a brilliant librettist, and I am very sorry for having probably caused their deaths.”  
“Alright, fine,” said Vriska, making like she was conceding a point. “But do you even speak Italian, John? I sure as Hell don’t! I don’t want to go in there and listen to people shout at me in foreign for a whole night.”  
John shook his head, chuckling. “You don’t get it. When you can’t understand the human voice, it just becomes another instrument, and it’s the most important instrument of all. Aranea, help me out here,” he said.  
“It sounds delightful,” she said, not wanting to get caught in between her sister and her leader, but very curious all the same. “I think we should go.”  
“Excellent, two against one, we’re going to see an opera!” Said John, doing a small victory jig.  
“John, think,” said Vriska in a soothing, oily tone. “We have important work to do. The nations of the world aren’t going to take themselves apart. Besides, you’re supposed to be some hero of the people aren’t you?” She reached up and put a hand, her real hand, on his cheek, “What is a man like that doing watching something as decadent as opera?”  
“Don’t even pretend Vriska,” John said, taking her hand down from his face, looking stern for a moment. “I can tell when you’re trying to manipulate me.”  
Vriska gasped in mock surprise. “I have never tried to manipulate you!”  
John put his hand on her shoulder. “We both know that’s a lie Vriska, and we both know I’m too strong for it anyway. It’s okay, I forgive you, and I promise you’re going to love this.” He thought for a moment, and then said, “And when we’ve saved the world, everyone will be able to watch opera. So hah!” Vriska sighed, a pained expression on her face, then nodded, and John led her away by the arm, promising to find them both some nice evening wear.  
Aranea stole a glance at her sister as she followed behind; they made eye-contact and Vriska gagged. Aranea giggled, but fell silent as a thought entered her head. She knew that Vriska had tried to influence John once; she and Vriska shared everything. She also knew why her sister had never tried again. It had simply been the most terrifying experience of her life.

The sisters wore elegant, near-identical blue gowns trimmed with lace patterned like spider webs, and bright red shoes for a splash of color, while John wore a magnificent suit banded with a pattern of swirling spirals, all white on blue, with hints of orange and teal on the cuffs. Thanks to Vriska they had paid nothing at all. The girls had browsed for a few moments while John sat impatiently by the window, and after they’d found their own outfits, the dragged him over and played dress-up. “Trust me John,” said Vriska, “you’re going to look soooooooo handsome!” When they were done, Vriska simply influenced the shopkeeper into thinking they’d already paid, and that he had neglected to give them their proper change, and that he was lucky that she didn’t inform the police about the crackpot operation he was running.  
As for the show itself, Vriska tried to act is she were entirely uninterested, but in actuality Aranea could feel her excitement bleeding through. This was certainly not what she had been expecting; the opera was about fairies and sorcerers and knights fighting for forbidden love during the first crusade; add some pirates and Vriska wouldn’t have been able to contain herself. For an amateur production, the effects were cleverly done and the singers were all excellent, though John expressed during the first intermission that Rinaldo’s actor was no Farinelli, and “these people are better actors than singers, really. They should have just put on Faust and not bothered with music, and I would have been happier.”  
Vriska sniffed. “Don’t be so snobbish, you’re a half-Indian runaway.”  
John smiled wide.  
“What?” she asked.  
“You’re enjoying this!”  
“No!”  
“A lot!”  
“It’s stupid!”  
“You love it!”  
Aranea loved watching John and Vriska argue, because Vriska loved to argue with John. It made her happy, and Aranea loved it when people she loved were happy. But she became distracted when, for no particular reason she looked up and noticed something. Even a small lower-class theater like this one had had box seats, but only one of them was occupied. She searched her mental reserves, little fragments of iron imbedded in the base of her neck infused with stolen memories; an invention of hers, though John was the only one with control fine enough to make and implant them. The memory was about five years old and foggy, but the man in the box was undoubtedly Louis XV, called the Beloved.  
It occurred to Aranea that John must be a genius, having known that their target, and eccentric man, would sneak out of the palace in disguise to watch an amateur revival of a decades-old opera in the projects.  
“Just you wait Vriska, in the next act the heroes fight Armida and it’s just a flurry of swords and magic and crazy things going on,” he said excitedly.  
“Really!? I mean,” she coughed, turning away, “that could be interesting.” John chuckled.  
“Or perhaps not,” muttered Aranea. Still, he was here, and she knew what needed to be done, best to get it out of the way. She excused herself and withdrew a tiny iron nail, releasing a faint blue pulse like a heartbeat. It was a black and evil thing she held in her hands. Jack Noir had been a terror and a scoundrel, using his immense talent for fire as a base highwayman. John had killed him, and good riddance, and captured a fragment of his essence within himself, but had been absolutely sickened with it and had it removed almost immediately. Now, Aranea would give it to the King of France, and Louis the Beloved would be beloved no more.

Karkat was to act as Eridan’s go-between with the girl of his affections. The fatal flaw in this was that neither of them knew who she was other than a vague description. “Black hair? Light skin? You mean NINETY PERCENT OF THE GIRLS AT THIS SCHOOL?”  
Eridan had nodded sagely and said, “When you see her you’ll know!” Karkat had struck him again and left him in the room with Jakob and Kanaya.  
“He is not to leave until he’s done what I asked,” he said. “You have my permission to beat him with a chair leg if he doesn’t perform to your satisfaction Kanaya.”  
“And me?” Asked Jakob.  
“Yeah, she can beat you too,” answered Karkat, putting on his tricorne and stepping out into the hall.  
He wandered the halls aimlessly, not really expecting to find the girl. Seriously, there was a plurality of students with black hair and light skin, as if whatever controlled the ability to perform magic was somehow inextricably tied to whatever determined the pigmentation of one’s hair and skin. Were people with those physical features more likely to have magical powers or was it the other way around? Was it a coincidence? Karkat made note to inquire after that sometime. It could form an entirely new field of study, and he would be its founder. He’d name it after Genesis because it would explain peoples’ origins, and after himself because he was awesome. Kargenetic science, or some such.  
In his musings, he stumbled into the solar, where a large crowd was gathered around a girl standing on a table. Terezi, or that’s what they called her at least, a Greenmage from Milan. Terezi wore a red cloth over her eyes, and had painted a sign in teal paint on her forehead that resembled a stylized eye. She claimed that her powers of true sight were such that she didn’t need her real eyes to see anymore; she could see into the true nature of things with her mind alone. She also claimed to have been the infamous Medici family’s private lawyer and assassin. She claimed many things. Terezi often mingled with Strider’s crew, but she was not of them, and was just as likely to pass the time with Karkat’s circle of friends or the growing ring of ‘philosophers’ in the basement, or any other group of people. She probably just liked the attention. “That’s right, I saw him last night with my own third eye! A white hart the size of horse! No, an elephant! He had antlers like thunderbolts and fur like new frost! I saw into his soul so I knew it’s true; the Questing Beast is here!” There was a gasp from the crowd.  
A girl in spectacles with very long black hair (of course) and a very pointy black hat sidled up to Karkat, asking, “What’s a questing beast?” Karkat didn’t know.  
“Oh my God, are you serious Karkat?! What, did you grow up in the woods or something? No wonder everyone thinks you’re lame,” announced Terezi; everyone laughed. She knew full-well that he had in fact been raised in the woods. “The Questing beast,” she said, sitting down on the table and assuming a very relaxed pose, “is a mighty forest spirit that travels the Earth looking for…something. It’s on a quest see?” Everyone nodded sagely, as if they understood some profound truth in her words.  
“Well good for it then! Who cares?” He got ready to storm off.  
“Hey, don’t tease him! I didn’t know either,” said the girl.  
“Oh, you’re from the colonies dear,” said Terezi with a dismissive gesture. “You guys aren’t expected to know anything,” everyone laughed.  
The two of them walked off together and a thought occurred to Karkat. “Hey, girl, have you ever met Eridan Ampora?”  
“Not really. I know who he is. I tried to talk to him one time but he ran away.”  
“Yeah, he wants to court you. He wanted me to go out and look for you and act as a go-between like if this were some kind of medieval chivalric epic and you two were star-crossed lovers. You know, like an idiot.”  
“Um, no. Just no. Sorry,” she said, shaking her head vigorously.  
Karkat nodded. “Thought so. My I ask why?”  
The girl bit her lip. “You’re friends with him right?”  
“I won’t get mad. I probably call him worse things.”  
He is entirely too intense,” she said, a pained expression on her face. “He reminds me of someone I’d rather not think about. They’re not even alike at all but it seems like in another life they could have been….” She shivered.  
“Alright, I’ll tell him he scares you, and to leave you alone.”  
“That’s not what I said!”  
“You meant it,” he said, pointing.  
“No!” she laughed.  
“I’m Karkat Vantas,” he said.  
“Jade Harley.” She hesitated only slightly.

The dining hall was a long, high ceilinged room, and one of the many half-finished rooms at the Scholomance. One of the long walls housed three-fourths of a mosaic depicting the creation of man; the other fourth was partially covered in plaster. The opposite wall was bare white stone, which someone had recently defaced with a variety of crude illustrations depicting men with mouths like pork-chops in poses mirroring that of the unfinished mosaic. That night at suppertime, the entire place was abuzz with talk of the Questing Beast. Students discussed what they’d do with their wish and whether or not Terezi was a liar. She herself was surrounded by a crowd of people making demands and asking her if she was sure of what she’d seen; she reminded them that she didn’t see with her eyes and that her information would be useless to most of them.  
Normally Master Zahhak would be overseeing the students at mealtime, as the rest of the staff had a separate dining room. Technically he still was, but he seemed to be transfixed by the recent vandalism. It was mesmerizing in its way.  
Kanaya asked her friends what they would do with a wish from the Beast.  
“I’d ask for my siblings to stop fighting,” sighed Jakob.  
“I’d want either Jade or my father to love me,” moped Eridan, staring into his mulled cider and wishing it were something stronger.  
“I think I would wish my parents had never been killed,” said Kanaya after a moment’s consideration.  
“Christ on a bicycle, you are the most depressing people in the world,” snapped Karkat. “I was going to say ‘I wish I knew what happened to the first eight years of my life’, but honestly now I’d wish for you all to stop being such sob-stories.” His three friends hugged him immediately and thanked him for caring so much.  
“You’re the best friend ever Kar,” said Eridan.  
“The benest of coves!” assured Jakob.  
“I’m so sorry Karkat, I just realized my wish would make it so we never met and you still want me to have it, you’re the best pseudo-sibling anyone can have, and I’m sorry, I change my wish to you having your memories,” said Kanaya, choking back a sob.  
“Get off of me!” He screamed.  
“Such a kidder,” said Eridan, squeezing him harder.  
“Screw the lot of you,” Karkat hissed, “I’m changing my wish; I want some gold!”  
“He’s just saying that because he’s so humble,” Kanaya assured the others.  
“Rubies! Women! Opium!” They all piled onto his lap, causing all four to spill on to the floor in a big confused pile of laughter. Karkat shouted, “I hate you! I hate you all!”  
“Oy, get up, we’re going to do things to you,” said a voice dripping with ennui. David Strider and his gang were looming over the group.  
“Many things indeed; let Damara join you down there and then we’ll have some real fun,” Damara winked as Caliborn let out a wild ‘yeah!’  
“Pet, you’re not allowed to talk anymore,” Strider said.  
Caliborn asked, “Which one?”  
“Both of you,” he answered. Turning his attention back to the pile, he said, “Couldn’t help but notice that you were discussing your potential wishes. You really are a sweet boy, Vantas—”  
“Sod off! Bet you wished poor Eridan here had never been born,” said Karkat, poking Eridan in the chest.  
“Why would you even say that, Kar? Why would you give him ideas?”  
Strider blew a raspberry. “I wouldn’t waste my wish on Ampora.”  
“Strider,” Eridan announced, standing back up, “if two hundred and fifty-two people died, I’d be your king!”  
Strider smirked. “And when the murders start, I’ll inform the authorities. And it wouldn’t work anyway Vantas; if he’d never been born, I wouldn’t hate him enough to want him gone in the first place, so he’d just end up existing again, or possibly destroying the universe. It is basic Red magic Vantas, you’re supposed to have inherent knowledge. Anyway, that’s not what we came here for.”  
“What are you here for,” asked Kanaya, finally picking herself up, “I assume it’s not to tutor my brother in Red magic?”  
“Quite right,” he struck a self important pose. “Ampora, assemble your crew. Your gang and mine are going to race to find the Questing Beast,” he announced to the hall and was met with excited gasps of ‘we love you David’ and ‘take it off’.  
“I don’t have a gang,” Eridan snorted.  
“And if anyone here were to have a gang it’d be me!” Karkat pulled himself up into a defiant stance, tilting his tricorne to a rakish angle. “Eridan is in no state to lead anyone anywhere. He’s practically sick with heartbreak or something equally stupid. I accept your challenge!”  
Strider grinned his devilish grin. “Good, you’ll need to come up with some more rejects willing to join you though. I’m bringing this whole lot,” he turned and counted off, “Caliborn, Damara, Broderick, Jeffrey, Porrim, Terezi—”  
“Oh I’m not coming,” said the blindfolded girl with a tone of mock surprise.  
“What?” For a second he lost his carefully projected image of nonchalance, “but you can see the thing! You can probably see it right now!”  
“Yes, so it wouldn’t be any fun David!” she said it in a tone that made it obvious that the principle matter here was fun, and not the once-in-a-lifetime ability to alter reality at will.  
Jakob cleared his throat. “Caliborn, I hope you understand that I am going to side with my friends and not with you?”  
Caliborn huffed angrily. “Fine, a little brotherly competition will be good for us! Take our stupid sister too, see if I care!”  
Kanaya whispered, “Why is he so loud?”  
“You see,” explained Jakob, “he has no ‘indoor voice’. Only an ‘outdoor’ voice and a ‘Calliope is near’ voice.”  
“Ah.”  
“Right, I’m sure you’ll find some reprobates to round out your group,” David said. “Perhaps some amateur philosophers or some feeble-colored scum?” He stepped closer, whispering. “It doesn’t matter, so long as you get a sporting chance. Tomorrow night, we meet up here at midnight and then we set off. First to make a wish wins.”  
He put his hand on Karkat’s shoulder; Karkat slapped it off. “Piss off; I know how to win at things.”  
Strider and his gang retreated, but not before Damara mouthed something at Eridan that made him break out into a cold sweat. “Oh and remember,” Strider called back. “You only get one wish before he runs off, you should all agree on one before tomorrow.”  
They spent the rest of the evening and most of the next day looking for people to round out their ‘gang’. Almost immediately after Strider left, they were joined by the girl who had given Karkat his book. ‘Hey, do you want come look for a Questing Whatever?”  
She looked elated, when he asked. “Of course! That would be perfect!” She had a way of rolling her Rs that made it sound like purring. She was Spanish apparently. “My name is Nepeta Leijon. You have to pronounce that like French though, with a really soft J.”  
“That’s wonderful and I don’t care,” said Karkat. “How good are you at tracking and why did you give me a book?” Kanaya coughed. ‘Oh, yeah, this is Kanaya, Jakob, and Eridan, my friends or what have you.”  
Nepeta shook all their hands enthusiastically. “I remember you Eridan! You were mean to me on the boat and then you got into a fight with Strider and Equius! That was capital. Oh, the Pounces taught me everything there is to know about tracking! They’re my guardian spirits, all nine lives of the same cat,” she indicated a space on the floor wherein Karkat could see nothing, though Jakob and Kanaya obviously could, they waved politely, and Jakob asked if he could pet one. He was granted permission, and Karkat watched him stroking the air in front of him while Kanaya looked on. Bloody Greens are all lunatics, he thought. But he said—  
“I didn’t understand any of that, except that you’re a good forester. Have you ever hunted something like this?”  
“Well there’s nothing like the Questing Beast,” she said, laughing. “But I’ve hunted all kinds of things, like revenants, dragons, and even a thing from the outer dark! Do you want me to tell you—?”  
“Maybe later,” he said with a dismissive gesture. “We need to find more people; he’s got a lead on us.”  
“Quality over quantity good chum,” said Jakob, giggling from being tickled by something invisible. “I doubt that any of Caliborn’s compatriots are huntsmen half as bold as dear Nepeta claims.”  
“But both is better than just one,” Karkat snapped. “Do you have any friends who might be useful? And you didn’t answer my other question.”  
“I thought you’d like the book,” she said, flushing slightly. “Did you like it?”  
“It has its parts. Now everyone thinks I’m an expert at chivalry and romance though, so I’m gonna have to dock it some points.”

Nepeta introduced them to her friends the next day; they turned out to be Tavros and Gamzee. “Welcome to our humble philosophy club motherfuckers,” said Gamzee as he reclined against a crate in his basement room, surrounded by empty bottles of absinthe.  
“Excuse me,” said Kanaya, scowling at the fowl-mouthed satyr.  
“It’s just how Gam-Gam talks,” said Nepeta with a warm smile. “He’s basically the nicest guy ever,” she said, tackling him with a hug.  
‘Nah, that distinction goes to my favorite villain, Tavros.”  
Tavros was sitting in the corner, molding a lump of brick into the shape of a flower. “Um, hello. I’m not, uh, inebriated right now. It’s fun to experiment but, um, once is more than enough.”  
“Y’all want some absinthe?” Gamzee held up a mostly empty bottle.  
Eridan sniffed. “That sort of thing destroys your brain.”  
Gamzee chuckled. “You’ll learn I’m a better guy with just most of a brain than a whole one.”  
Nepeta said “Gam-Gam’s animal instincts are almost as sharp as mine, and Tavros can talk to the stones,” she raised her hand to her mouth and with an over-exaggeratedly suspicious sideglance, whispered, “they know everything”, and giggled.  
“Yes, that is true. They know everything, or almost,” Tavros sounded not quite defensive, as if he wasn’t sure that she was making fun of him, “They know most things, let’s agree on that.”  
Karkat shouted at them to cut out the mindless chatter. “Let’s get down to business here. Brandy face, Stone talker, do you guys want to find the Questing Beast with us?”  
Gamzee thought it would be a fine idea. Tavros however, was reluctant. “I don’t know, it seems like I’ll be more of, say, a hindrance than, well, a help? I don’t actually, hmm, know what I could possibly do for you all, and with my condition, someone would have to, well, carry me around? Why am I making all of these observations as, um, questions?” He covered his face with his hands, embarrassed.  
Gamzee reached over and grabbed him by the neck with one hand, mussing his hair with the other. “If that’s all your worried about little villain I’ll carry you!”  
“Yeah and your talents will totally come in handy,” said Nepeta, pouncing over to the other boy. “THE STONES KNOW EVERYTHING,” she shouted as she shook his shoulders.  
Tavros flushed as he spoke next, “Um, well, I guess I’ll come if, Karkat, if you would let me, um—”  
“OUT WITH IT YOU SLOW-TONGUED BUFFOON,” Karkat screamed, having been growing exponentially more and more tired of the small-talk since it began.  
“Canwewishformylegstowork?” Tavros shouted, beet red.  
The room grew very quiet for several moments, and the boy looked to be on the verge of tears. Kanaya was the first to speak. “You don’t have to be ashamed of wanting to be healthy, Tavros. And I’m sure Karkat will agree—”  
Karkat cut her off. “Look, Tavros, this could be a life-changing opportunity for all of us—”  
Kanaya looked up, startled. “Karkat, what are you—”  
“Shut up,” he said, holding up his hand. “And there is no guarantee that we’re going to get the wish anyway—”  
She glared at him, green eyes flashing, “I can’t believe what I’m hearing from your mouth—”  
“LET ME FINISH,” he growled at his sister, building up a slight ruddy charge in his hair that made it poke up at odd angles. “What I’m saying Tavros,” he said through grit teeth, “is that you shouldn’t get your hopes up. And I’m also saying that you can’t just ask me, the whole group needs to agree to it, because we’re all going to be putting in work to find the thing.”  
Once again the room grew quiet. And then Nepeta pounced on Karkat, knocking him to the ground and praising his compassionate soul. Everyone soon followed. “I HATE YOU ALL!”

Jade walked soundlessly through the halls of the Scholomance with no end goal in mind. She just liked walking. She passed through a hallway of dressed marble with very large pointed arch windows that let the sunlight stream in, bathing the entire room in the soft yellow glow of morning. She paused a moment to enjoy the view. The mountains out here were breath taking. More importantly, they were nearly unassailable except by magic. She was safe as could be, here. Sure, the students mocked her for being from the colonies, and for her dark, conservative dress, but she didn’t mind. So what if she didn’t want to telegraph her Color everywhere? She had a few good friends and she was learning wonderful things, and once again, she was safe—  
There was a very exasperated sigh from her left, Terezi came into view with a tired smile on her face. “Another me hated the sun you know. It burned her and blinded her, but it made her strong. Adversity makes people strong. I don’t think I’ve had enough of it yet.” She turned to Jade, and Jade felt the other girl’s eyes focus on her from behind the red blindfold. “Unlike you Harley.”  
Jade pointedly ignored her. “You know,” said Terezi, “they’re going to go look for the Questing Beast. The one that can grant wishes? Remember?”  
Jade was suddenly interested. “Um, who?”  
“Just your boyfriend and his lackeys,” she drawled.  
Jade frowned. “I don’t even like Strider—”  
Terezi cackled. “No! The knight in shining armor you saved from my poisonous barbs yesterday!”  
Jade raised an eyebrow. “Karkat? I barely know him!”  
“Sure thing doll. It doesn’t matter though; it’s in the tags.”  
Jade blinked. “Tags…? You know what, I don’t care,” she turned to leave; this conversation was making her uncomfortable.  
“Hey,” Terezi shouted, “whatever you do, don’t go with them!”  
Jade spun on her heel to glare at Terezi. “I wasn’t going to, but even if I did, what’s the worst that could happen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone with artistic ability who reads this, I implore you to draw Karkat in period clothing wearing a tricorne at a rakish angle. Tricornes are badass.  
> Opera: not just fat people taking forever to die! A few things I should have mentioned in previous chapter notes. I based Calliope’s design on her trollsona, but I based Caliborn on all the fanart from back when people thought they were trolls. I thought he looked like a coked-up Karkat, it was awesome. I’d been sitting on the joke about Eridan being king since chapter one, where I forgot to include it. I might go back when this is over and make like, an alpha version of the story where it is, because I don’t want it to be too fresh in your minds….Originally Vriska was going to be a student, but by making her not be one, the story has radically changed and so I altered some tags. My interpretation of Karkat is that he’s a very intelligent boy who’s very good at heart despite his short temper; however, he has complete control over his anger. He likes being angry! It may tie into his abilities as a knight of blood; some people have argued that the Blood aspect has to do with emotions, and if so it would mean a Knight would use emotion as a weapon, so Karkat would logically have total emotional control. Think about, he never has to take time to calm himself down, if he needs to be calm, he just is. He’s mellowed out a lot in canon during the three year journey because he hasn’t needed o be angry. Of course, all of this means nothing in my invented universe!  
> This chapter may have seemed like more silly fluff, but the Questing Beast arc is going to be pretty important (and also an arc). We’re setting shit in motion! Plot is happening! Well, I guess it’s been happening with John and the Serkets. I should totally make a spinoff called “World History with Johnny and the Serket Twins”, hehe. Hey were originally going to watch Don Giovanni, but that hasn’t been written yet. I suppose I could lie, because who’s going to bother looking up historical facts for a single reference in a fanfic? Me, I would bother.  
> Oh Lord, this has so many views. I can’t hold all these views! More views than I’ve ever gotten on anything. Thank you all for your time, even if you just read the first chapter and clicked away in disgust. I vow I will not allow this paltry internet fame go to my head and make me get all existential so I stop writing for very long periods of time because I start to think I’m doing ‘art’ instead of ‘fun’ or whatever it is that makes fanfic writers take forever to finish things after chapter five.


	6. What COULD Possibly Go Wrong?!

1752\. On raven’s wings, Eridan skimmed over the Alps, once snowcapped, now home to a hundred thousand waterfalls. He lit on a rocky outcropping only a few yards away from the ruins of the Scholomance. They were almost impossible to see through the thick barrier of wind raging around the site. John Egbert had trapped Karkat in there all those years ago, playing at being a hero. Bastard.  
The sun above was hot and red, and brighter than anything. It took up half the sky. Someday soon, it would swallow the world, or so he feared.  
A figure appeared, clad in armor carved from greenish bone, with a terrible mask like a snake’s offspring with a bird. Eridan narrowed his eyes. “Jake? Is that you? Or are you Abraxas now?”  
The figure smirked. “We’ve come to a compromise since Algeria. Either one works fine now.” He strode forward and clasped Eridan’s hand in a firm warrior’s handshake. “How’re things, you’re majesty?”  
Eridan made a face. “I can’t be King w-without a Kingdom Jake. Britain is gone, and it has been for years. All of the surwiwors belong to Queen Jane Makara and her Dark Carnival.” He shuddered to remember what that monster had done to the once unspoiled lands of the colonies.  
Jake shook his head. “What happened to your voice?”  
“I dropped the posh accent. Letting my inner Scotsman out. So w-what if I stutter a little? Who care w-what other people think. And you?”  
“I suppose I just picked up the ‘normal’ accent in my travels.” Jake sighed. “I suppose this is it then? We’re going to see Karkat again?”  
“Once we get through Egbert’s defenses.”  
“That’s what I’m here for,” said Jake with a roguish gin. He drew his pistols, “these were forged from the Spear of Longinus,” he explained. “I went through a lot of trouble to get them,” and opened fire into the swirling tornado.  
Nothing happened. Eridan sighed. “You can’t really kill a tornado Jake—”  
The winds dissipated, as if they had waited until the funniest possible moment to die. Jakob smirked. Eridan growled at him to get a move on.  
In the wreckage of the dining hall, the pair found a horde of revenants, with blue flames burning eerily in their empty sockets. All of them had the smudged remains of clown makeup smeared across their dry, brittle faces, making them all the more grotesque. These were the students who had been trapped inside the barrier all those years ago. Eridan felt a pang in his heart; he hadn’t had any illusions that they’d survived, but still, nearly any fate was better than this. He drew Hopesbane from its scabbard, the ancestral basket-hilt claymore of the Ampora line. He found a familiar face in the assembled monsters; Nepeta. A thin voice escaped from her mummified lips; “I remember…the boat…capital.” Eridan bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, and charged.  
Jake moved like a whirlwind from one pose to another, firing off his guns and always striking at the head of the heads of the creatures. Eridan didn’t know if the pistols were enchanted or just some new kind of gun, but Jake was firing off dozens of shots before reloading. When his ammunition was finally spent, he held them by the barrel and used them as clubs, with no less deadly, fluid grace.  
Eridan was far less precise; with the big stout weapon he was using, there was no need to be. He could strike off the heads of the monsters with a flick of his wrists or even smash completely through the rotted hulks of their torsos with the flat of his blade. Once or twice an iron spike would clatter to the ground as the burning lights went out of their eyes. Of course; such creatures were products of Blue magic. He ignored their dying cries. They weren’t his friends; they were his friends’ killers.  
Eridan had nearly reached the stairs at the back of the hall with minimal effort on his part. There was no need to use magic on enemies such as these; they had bigger fish to fry—  
Something huge smashed through the floor and slammed Jake against the wall; Equius. Or what was left of him. “Eridan, run! I’ll hold him off!” Jake pulled a knife and slammed it into the giant revenant’s eye, spraying a gout of black corpse blood across the wall, still defaced with Strider’s caricatures. Eridan hesitated. “Go you stupid shit!” Eridan ran for the stairs and shut the door behind him. He didn’t hear the thin voice calling, “brotherly competition”, or the sickening crunch as Caliborn bit through Jake’s leg.  
Eridan went down deeper into the basement than he’d ever been. It seemed that while the castle above was new, it had been built on the ruins of a far older one. Something dark and pagan, built before the coming of Christians. Who knew; maybe one of the Odins had lived here. Or been buried here.  
He encountered something living in the tunnels, one of that mad bastard Solluxander’s creatures. A bee, the size of a carthorse, covered in bright red spines, like rose thorns. One giant, multifaceted eye was blue, and the other red. Its elongated scaly abdomen curled up and over like a scorpion’s tail, tipped with a shiny black stinger the length of a sword. It fluttered its wings and the sound was standing inside a church bell. It prepared to charge—  
And Eridan rammed the Hopesbane through the blue eye. It twitched once and died. He moved on.  
After what seemed like an hour of searching, he came to the place where Karkat was being kept, a huge round cavern, painted all over with vague figures of red and black. A woman made of handprints, a man without a face, something part human and part animal, many others. In the center, bound in chains, was Karkat, emaciated and grayed from his many years of captivity, but somehow still alive, just as Eridan knew he would be.  
“Kar? It’s me, Eridan.” Karkat stirred. With what appeared to be herculean effort, he lifted his head and stared at his old friend. A vessel must have burst in one of his eyes; it was completely red. He muttered something under his breath. “What was that? I didn’t—”  
“MOTHER. FUCKING. TRIGGER. WARNING.”  
Eridan paled. He had no idea what Karkat had meant, but there was so much malice in it. He had the feeling that, if Karkat were loose, his old friend would not hesitate to kill him. “YOU USELESS SACK OF SHIT. YOU FUCKING COME IN HERE AFTER ALL THIS TIME THINKING THINGS ARE GOING TO BE THE SAME? YOU NEVER KNEW DID YOU? HOW MUCH I FUCKING HATED YOU. I WASN’T TRYING TO BE CUTE. I FUCKING HATED YOU. I DREAMED OF FILLETING YOU PEOPLE ALIVE AND FEEDING YOU YOUR OWN SKINS BUT I NEVER HAD THE FUCKING STONES.”  
Eridan set his jaw. He’d known Karkat hadn’t been alright when this all began, but he’d mercifully been away at his father’s coronation. He knew though, from other escapees, that Karakt had snapped. It’s why Egbert, the great villain himself, had sealed him up in the first place, sacrificing his power and possibly his life, to keep Karkat trapped in here.  
“Until now,” Karkat muttered.  
“You aren’t w-well Karkat,” Eridan said, voice breaking a little. “I’m going to try to commune with you. I’m sorry, I know you’re not supposed to do it to humans, but I think I can calm you down—”  
Karkat laughed. “YOU STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND. I EVEN TOLD YOU.” His voice went so quiet Eridan strained to hear. “On the first. Fucking. Day.”  
Eridan divided up a piece of his consciousness and linked it to Karkat’s mind, like he had done a thousand times before to a thousand different animals. And he was instantly repelled by a wall of solid anger so strong Eridan felt it as a physical blow that brought him to his knees and made bile rise to his throat. He returned to himself instantly, recoiling as if he had thrust his hand into a furnace. “How can you stand it Kar? God in heaven, if I ever felt like that I think I would cry.”  
Ignoring him, Karkat went on with his speech. “WHAT DID I TELL YOU? I WOULD BRING IT DOWN. AND THAT’S WHAT I’M DOING RIGHT NOW. BRINGING IT DOWN.” This time, he only seemed to get louder.  
Eridan thought for a second. He remembered. “Karkat, nobody can do that! You aren’t w-w-well! All these years cooped up in here, they’ve driven you over the deep end! I’m going to take you out of here, but you need to calm down first—”  
Karkat was screaming, roaring; a deep animalistic howl that the human throat should not have been able to make. “YOU STILL THINK I’M WEAK MOTHERFUCKER!? YOU THINK I CAN’T BRING THE FUCKING SUN DOWN TO EARTH?” He went quiet, and chuckled, almost like his old self. “Well you’re right about one thing; it’s too damn big. I’M PUSHING THE EARTH INTO IT. MUCH EASIER. JUST TAKE A FUCKING LOOK OUTSIDE, YOU’LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO. EGBERT, STUPID FUCKER THAT HE WAS, HE WAS RIGHT. I’M A FUCKING THREAT. THE BIGGEST FUCKING THREAT THERE EVER WAS. AND THE ONLY REASON THAT I’M STILL IN CHAINS, IS BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT TO LOSE ANY TIME. BUT FOR YOU, I’M GONNA MAKE AN EXCEPTION. I’M GONNA PUT OFF MY GLORIOUS DESTRUCTION OF THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD JUST TO KILL YOU. Aren’t you special?” He whispered as he said that, as quiet as he had ever been. He went back to screaming after that, and never turned back.  
Karkat began to crackle with lightning, filling the chamber with blood-red light. An instant later, everything made of metal within a hundred yards went hurtling towards him. The chains crumpled like paper, nails were pulled from walls, ever present iron dust was pulled up from the ground and from the stones themselves and in an instant, the chamber crumbled, bringing down everything above it.  
Eridan was out for a few moments, but was awoken by Karkat’s voice. “I PROTECTED YOU, MOSTLY. BUT ONLY BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO LOOK ME IN THE EYE WHILE I’M KILLING YOU.” It seemed as if the entire bulk of the Scholomance had fallen into the chamber, except for a six foot hole in the rubble where Eridan lay. Above, the huge red sun loomed like a giant eye. Ahead, Karkat floated in the air, as the metal fragments welded themselves into a suit of armor. But instead of gauntlets, Karkat’s hands were sheathed in a pair of enormous claws. He flexed them open and shut; they sounded like scissors.  
The two former friends glared at each other. Eridan picked up a splinter of wood the length of a dagger. Violet magic was no good for fighting, at least not an enemy like Karkat. They both lunged at once, Eridan propelled up and forward by his black wings, Karkat flying under the power of altered gravity.  
Karkat’s left claw caught Eridan in the flank, digging deep into his insides, while the other claw sheared off his wing. The wings were magical constructs, but it still hurt like Hell. Eridan hooked his arm around Karkat’s neck and dragged him down, twisting so as to land on top of him, and drove the splinter toward his neck. Karkat twisted at the last moment however, and it went into the shoulder, and the rotted old piece of wood snapped off at a useless length.  
Jakob Anglika, somehow still alive, pulled himself out of the rubble. Abraxas’ power had allowed him to hold onto a few things. One of the pistols, and one of the gruesome iron spikes. He thought it might be Equius’s, or possibly Caliborn’s. He would never know. He drew the little flask of gunpowder he kept near his heart and meticulously loaded the gun, putting in double the necessary, because his only ammunition was much heavier than a musket ball. He aimed down the sight, and shot Karkat in the neck.  
The stake flew straight through, killing Karkat instantly, burying itself deep in Eridan’s chest.  
Several hours later, when night had fallen, Eridan awoke, feeling stronger than he ever had. In the back of his mind however, there it was; the hatred, the anger that had consumed Karkat. And something else too, just as angry, but sulking in a corner somewhere, wary of its freedom. This was the price of Blue magic, the mutilation of the soul. A ways away, there was Jake’s corpse. Eridan strode over to him, ignoring the voice in the back of his head. “I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I DON’T WANT TO BE A PART OF YOU YOU SORRY PIECE OF ABSOLUTE GARBAGE LET ME OUT I SWEAR TO GOD WHEN YOU’RE ASLEEP I’M GOING TO TAKE CONTROL AND GUAGE OUT YOUR EYES WITH YOUR OWN DI—”  
Jake looked like Hell, but it seemed someone had taken the time to go ahead and stab him in the back so hard the sword came out the other end and the tip broke off. Very gently, Eridan touched the anger, dividing his consciousness like he’d done so often before—  
And suddenly it was late evening, and Jake was lying there, bleeding out on the rubble. “Hey,” he said casually. “You were stabbed with a blue magic stake.”  
“I know.”  
“You have Karkat’s Red powers now.”  
“I know.”  
“He was much stronger than we thought—”  
Both Eridan and the Karkat-voice in his head shouted “I KNOW!”  
Jake chuckled, and winced in pain. “You can go back now and fix everything.”  
Even the Karkat-voice fell silent at that.  
“You’re still not strong enough though,” said Jake. “Get your sword. Hurry.”  
Eridan took a step, and suddenly there he was, facing himself, at the moment Karkat destroyed the rest of the Scholomance. His sword was flying right out of its scabbard. Everything was frozen. There was a jagged bolt of lightning, standing perfectly still, just a foot away. It looked incredibly sharp. Eridan reached out and picked up the sword, then stepped back.  
Jake clapped. It was an honest clap, not ‘for the purpose of irony’ like Strider might once have done, God rest his soul. Never had Eridan had a better friend after the closing of the Scholomance.  
“Now what?”  
Jake smiled. “You’re from the future, you know what. Now do it before I die of natural causes.”  
Between Eridan, Jake, and the Karkat voice’s advice, they were able to treat the sword so it worked like the Blue stakes. Eridan was surprised how ready the hateful thing in his head had complied, but then he remembered. It wasn’t really Karkat, just an impression of him. A sketch that contained nearly everything he’d been, but only a sketch. And a man could look at a sketch no matter how much it seemed to hate him.  
He gave Jake one final hug, and plunged the sword into his back, through him, into his own heart.

“The End!” Terezi giggled. “Did you like my story explaining why you shouldn’t go treasure hunting?” She gave a big, toothy grin. It made her look like a shark.  
Jade stared at her flabbergasted for a full five minutes before screaming in frustration. “That didn’t explain anything! It sounds more like some moronic fantasy using someone else’s characters than a prediction of the future, but worse because they’re real people! That is sick! And it had no connection to me whatsoever! It’s like you skipped three hundred pages ahead in the story! And as I have said, I have no intention of joining these people I barely even know on some treasure hunt!” She grabbed Terezi by the shoulders and pushed her back against the stone window-frame. “And my sister would NOT marry a racist drunk who thinks he’s a satyr!” Her Green eyes searched between Terezi’s blindfold and her forehead symbol, and decided to glare at the later. “How did you know about my family, you crazy bitch?”  
“First of all, they’re looking for the Questing Beast,” Terezi said, sounding like she was having the time of her life. “It’s not some treasure hunt. Secondly, Gam-Gam isn’t such a bad guy as all that! He’d be good for Janey. When he’s drunk at least.” She put her hands on Jade’s lifted them up off her shoulders, gently but firmly and with surprising strength pushing her away from the window towards the opposite wall, almost as if they were dancing. “Thirdly, it was admittedly a very unlikely future. I mean, come on? Karkat being good at things? Eridan and David being friends? That little buffoon Jakob being a badass? Completely unlikely. But you did ask, and that’s what I told you would happen.” She put a finger to her lips. “Well, maybe I embellished a little.”  
On the verge of tears, Jade broke free, turned on her heel and walked, resolutely, away, with more gravity than she had ever put into an action before. Terezi cackled behind her. Jade started to run. “Oh come on! I didn’t REALLY know she was your sister! OR DID I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 413 everybody! I worked extra hard to get something up on the big day, hence the shortness of this chapter. It’s not a 413 prank, this will have some actual bearing on the story (are there 413 pranks? There should be). The real Questing Beast arc begins next chapter. Yes, Jake is using gun-kata. Yup, you know you’re a highly improbable bad alternate future when the crackest of ships becomes canon. Hussie has said (jokingly, probably) that Sollux’s full name is Solluxander, which sounds like a goddamn supervillain name! For those who don’t know, a basket-hilt is what real men use instead of rapiers when they still want to look classy. I….have nothing else to say. Huh. 300 hits! *blows noisemaker*


	7. Can We Get The Plot Moving Along NOW?

“Do you know what I hate? When a story or a new chapter starts with dialogue. I don’t know why, it’s just a pet peeve of mine. Like, the author thinks that whatever this nameless degenerate is saying at some random moment is more important than telling the reader who he is or what he’s doing or setting the mood for the scene or anything like that,” Karkat drained his cup of milk before continuing. “It’s nonsense.”  
Eyes closed, Kanaya took a sip of her tea with a small, refined smile. She took it black and spiced; it was delicious. “I do not particularly mind it. I think it serves to make the reader extra attentive to the details of the work by dropping them right into the middle of it. They need to work to keep up.”  
Karkat snorted while shoveling eggs and bacon into his mouth, causing him to choke slightly. Kanaya patted his back until he recovered. “It’s dumb. It’s basically tricking you into paying attention instead of just doing something to deserve it like a good, honest book does,” he slammed his empty cup to the table to compound his point. “I shouldn’t have finished my drink.”  
“What ho good chaps!” Jakob Anglika approached with a pitcher of milk and a plate piled high with pastries of various kinds. “Are you discussing literary tropes?”  
Karkat ignored him and took the milk and poured himself some more. Kanaya shook her head. “You both need more variety in your diet. Karkat, trade some of your eggs for one of his scones. Jakob, go back and get some fruit.”  
Jakob saluted and went about his task. Karkat glared at Kanaya and said, “Don’t act like our mother, we can eat whatever we want.”  
She calmly and carefully sliced off a triangle of pancake and ate it before answering. “You get sick when you eat too much fatty food at breakfast Karkat, we both know this. You slow down and you’re useless all day. You need long term energy for tonight, and that means bread and fruit.” She ate another piece of pancake. “And chewing.”  
“Bugger your chewing,” said Karkat, as he begrudgingly started to eat his food more slowly. Then, someone cleared their throat behind Karkat, startling him and causing him to choke again.  
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” muttered Calliope, coming into view while Kanaya patted Karkat’s back again.  
When he had recovered, Karkat asked sneeringly, “What do you want?”  
Calliope flushed at a little at his brashness and Kanaya hit him in the arm. She pressed on. “Would it be possible for me to join your expedition into the woods tonight?”  
Karkat said “no, our party’s full”, at the same time as Kanaya said “yes but I’m afraid we’ve already agreed on our wish”.  
Choosing to ignore Karkat, Calliope said, “Oh, I don’t care about the wish! I just wanted to record the incident. I mean, I could ask you after the fact, but it’s so much better to have a firsthand account. I mean, writing about adventures is all fine and good, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it until I’ve had one myself!” She became increasingly flustered with excitement and even started trembling. “And it would make an excellent episode in my story,” she added.  
Karkat was agog. “YOU…WANT TO LEAVE,” catching himself, he started whispering, “you want to leave a written record of our disgustingly against the rules conduct with hopes of someday publishing it for general consumption?”  
Crestfallen, she said, “um…yes? I’m sorry, I’ll go,” and turned to leave, head down, shoulders slumped, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.  
Kanaya hit him again.  
Karkat slapped his forehead. “Wait. Do you have any skills that might be useful? Other than irritating your brother?”  
Kanaya interrupted him. “Karkat, the only ones in our group who have any specialized skills are Nepeta and Gamzee, and possibly Eridan, being Violet and all. An extra pair of eyes and hands really would be useful.”  
Calliope was beaming, and looking at Karkat expectantly. She batted her eyelashes. “You wear a hat,” Karkat growled.  
She raised her eyebrow. “Pardon?”  
Karkat rolled his eyes. “Your hair. Is. Platinum. WHITE. It will stand out like a bonfire if there’s moonlight. So wear a hat.” Calliope hugged him and said he was the sweetest boy ever. “No! I am a cruel vicious man! Go away before I change my mind!”  
She left, saying “Goodbye friends!”  
Karkat yelled “YOU WEAR A HAT!”

The day passed slowly. Karkat couldn’t concentrate during his lessons, and whenever he was called upon to answer a question he would start, thinking that someone had spilled the beans and he was to be interrogated. What’s more, the other members of the group kept bothering him throughout the day and asking him questions despite his insistence that they not talk about it. But they would always bring up some unprecedented problem and he would have to come up with a solution. Would they be staying together or splitting up into smaller groups? What sort of things should they bring? How would they be getting out of the school? How exactly did one make a wish upon the Questing Beast? Would they have to touch it? Speak to it? Would it run? He couldn’t answer any of those questions concerning the beast, but worked hard on the other ones. With Gamzee’s help he was able to obtain several compasses and a map of the surrounding area, albeit a map based on a survey conducted in 1670 before the castle had even been built. It seemed Gamzee had the power of Serendipity; that was the only logical explanation for his ease at finding whatever it was he needed. Karkat also had Jakob smuggle some food out of the kitchen. They would only be out for a night, but it was better to be prepared. Later, Nepeta assured him that while she hadn’t thought of any of those things, she had plenty of rope, climbing equipment, matches, blankets, and all manner of other things that might be useful. “Including a gun!”  
Karkat stared at her in disbelief for a full five minutes. “How the fuck did you smuggle in a gun!?”  
Nepeta giggled. “I didn’t smuggle it in, that would be impossible! I made it!”  
Karkat at her in disbelief for another full five minutes. “Why would we need a gun!?”  
“There’s dangerous creatures in the woods Karkat! Wolves, gargoyles, griffins….” She went on to list a great deal of other monsters that she had either seen or knew from experience to be active in this part of Austria. Karkat made the sign of the cross and wished he’d never gotten involved in this mess.

At eleven o’clock, Karkat and Eridan snuck out of their room using the old ‘pillow under the bed sheets’ trick and crept through the darkened halls of the castle towards the lunchroom. They met with an unexpected obstacle on their way out of the dormitory; a pulsing yellow ball of light floating above the doorway leading to the stairs. A sentry ball, designed to make sure no one wandered out of their bunks at night.  
The two of them hid behind a pillar and watched, but the thing didn’t move. Eridan whispering so low it was barely audible asked Karkat, “Do you think it chases students or just reports them?” Karkat asked why the hell he should be expected to know. Eridan sighed and reached out with a tendril of his mind. There was no way to commune with the thing as it wasn’t alive, but there was a fairly large owl roosting just outside the conspicuously open window. He gave it the impression that a rat had run through right under the sentry ball, and it majestically dove in after it like an idiot, then back out the window. The sentry ball, now flashing red and blue, gave chase.  
The journey to the dining hall passed without further incident, and the boys found that they were the last to arrive. “Now that’s bloody embarrassing,” Karkat grumbled as he saw Gamzee walking around with Tavros on his shoulders, “we get beaten by a man who can’t walk and a man who isn’t sure where he is half the time!”  
Karkat’s group was standing near the defaced wall, and Strider’s near the incomplete one. He was sure that would be some sort of symbolism if life were a book. Once they were noticed, they were met with a cacophony of greetings.  
“Good even friends!”  
“I brought my hat!”  
“Karkitty!”  
“Want some absinthe?”  
“Um, hello leader, sir,”  
“Oh good, I was beginning to worry about you two.”  
Karkat shushed them loudly. “Do you want us to get caught? They’ll flay us alive for being out at this hour, especially if they catch us with rope and climbing gear and—GOD’S WOUNDS are you planning on overthrowing a small country Nepeta?!”  
In addition to the crudely made flintlock as long as Karkat’s forearm sticking out of her belt, Nepeta was carrying a longbow taller than she was and a quiver made of a white catskin full of arrows, as well as a hunting knife that looked like a short sword in her small hands. With her overlarge green coat and her ratty old tricorne, she looked a bit like a pirate. She pulled out the gun so Karkat could look at it and he hit the floor while everyone laughed. “It’s not loaded silly! That would be dangerous.”  
Karkat pulled himself up off the floor, red with embarrassment. “Why? Just—WHY?!”  
“I told you there’s monsters in there,” she said, holstering the pistol again. The pommel was shaped like a cat’s head. “The gun is just in case I run out of arrows though, because it’ll make so much noise that we’ll be caught for sure!”  
“Yes,” said Eridan, rolling his eyes, “when we’re surrounded by monsters is the best time to worry about getting caught.”  
Nepeta nodded excitedly. “See? He gets it! Hey, what took you guys anyway?”  
Karkat raised an eyebrow. “We thought we were early! We were supposed to meet up at midnight, remember?”  
Kanaya explained. “Everyone was just so excited that we all simultaneously decided to show up at around ten. We’ve been waiting on you two and Strider.”  
Eridan looked quizzical. “What, even you?”  
Kanaya rubbed the back of her head. “Well, a little, but mostly Calliope wanted to come. I had to talk her down from hiding in here since supper.”  
“What’s it matter what Calliope wanted—”  
“Well, we’re roommates,” Calliope chimed in, gesturing at her loud burgundy hat. It had a purple feather in it. Karkat reached over and plucked out the feather. Calliope was crestfallen.  
Kanaya coughed. “Did I never tell you this?”  
Karkat opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it as if in thought. “It seemed like unessential information. But how did you never mention this before? And why don’t you spend more time together?”  
Kanaya blushed. “She’s in much more advanced classes than I am.”  
Calliope gave her a hug. “Oh don’t be embarrassed, you’re so clever Kanaya,” she reassured.  
“NOW SMELL HER A LITTLE,” Caliborn called from across the hall while Jeffrey and Broderick hooted. Damara then struck them all upside the head for making so much noise. The two groups did not interact much after that, except for Damara occasionally wiggling her eyebrows at Eridan, who would color deeply and try nonchalantly to hide. “Alright, what did she tell you yesterday?” Karkat asked. Eridan just shook his head and refused to speak.  
At exactly midnight David Strider walked into the hall, and gazed in mild surprise at the assembly. “Excellent, by arriving exactly on time I am ironically fashionably late.” He looked over at Karkat’s group. “Good Lord Vantas! When I made my suggestions yesterday I didn’t mean it literally. You even listened to Caliborn and brought his sister. How does it feel Cal,” he asked, turning to the gaunt boy, “your entire family turning against you?”  
Caliborn gave it a moment’s thought. “Fuck’em,” he decided.  
Strider nodded. “And what did you decide for your wish?”  
Karkat glared at Strider as the rest of the group formed up behind him. “We’re going to get Tavros’s legs working again. I fucking dare you to say something.”  
Strider snorted. “I’m not a monster Vantas. I’m not going to mock a boy because of his disability.” He turned and walked towards his group as everyone stared dumb-founded.  
He looked back at them over his shoulder. “I’d mock him for having magic the color of shit, but we’re in a hurry right now.” His lackeys burst into laughter.  
Karkat picked up a chair and hurled it at him. It slowed to the pace of spilled molasses and then stopped in the air without ever touching Strider. “I’ll let that go if we leave right now,” he said, never breaking his stride as he approached the little side-door towards the back of the room.  
A cold breeze and dim silvery light filled the dining hall when he opened it. There was a half-moon out, and the night sky was a clear, dark blue. Both groups stepped out into the night together and walked a ways in silence, Karkat still seething with rage. There was no sound other than the crunching of the ever present snow underfoot and the occasional hoot of an owl. Almost imperceptibly, the trees grew closer together and suddenly they were in the forest.  
After fifteen minutes, Nepeta called a halt. A few feet ahead there was a haziness in the air, as if on a hot day. “We’re at the edge of the school’s protection! After this the creatures of the forest will be able to sense us!” She grinned evilly, something no one had suspected her being capable of doing. “Anyone who wants to turn back should do it now!”  
Strider’s lackeys began to confer in hushed whispers until he shouted at them. “We’re going you idiots. She’s just trying to scare us. And even if she isn’t, it’s not as if we’re in that much danger anyway; four Red magi are better than an arsenal, especially when one of them’s me.” Mollified, they stood resolutely awaiting his orders. He turned to Karkat and the two flipped a coin to decide what direction they’d lead their groups in. Karkat was to go north, and he, south. They stepped past the boundary of protection—  
And with a piercing shriek, a gargoyle leapt from its hiding place in the treetops, tackling Karkat to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit will Karkat live or die who am I kidding yes he will. Next couple of chapters will be odd reading unless I sort out the chronology. Suffice it to say for now that John and his crew are between one week and three weeks ahead of the students. I had failed to account for how long he spent at Castle Dualscar before moving him to Paris. Nepeta is so heavily armed because in my earliest musings on this concept she was a badass Robin Hood-esque highwayman (highwaywoman? It’s a word apparently), and because her guardian spirit/s are not really suited for combat. Who knows, maybe that’ll be a spinoff someday, Nepeta Quest 201X. I’m not gonna ask for comments anymore because if you’ve stuck around this long I’m confident you like the story. So, hey, did most of you readers find this by searching ships you like? I went to some of your profiles and a lot of your bookmarks and recs have the same or similar pairings. I’m not stalking you *twitch*. As to that, now I’m on the subject, the primary purpose of the story is the adventuring and magic and stuff, hence the lack of overt romance so far, aside from our John/Vriska/Aranea OT3 (kidding! OR AM I?) but we’ll get there.  
> I don’t know why, but I thoroughly enjoyed whole breakfast sequence. It was too much fun for what it was. I know that 1700s nutritional science was a lot less advanced than today’s and nobody would know about what foods give you more energy or some such, but since when do we care about history? We could call this the metafictional chapter.  
> Oh, and a note on characters. I’m sure you’ve guessed who Broderick and Jeffrey are supposed to be. Porrim is just there to round out the numbers; I’ll work out something for her to do later. I love Terezi, but I can never think of anything for her to do, hence her side-characterness. The cherubs wouldn’t even have been in the story if not for my mild fancrush on Calliope (oh come on, so does everyone on Tumblr; oh sick burn on myself and Tumblr, it’s like a kamikaze burn or some such), hence their more comic relief status. Originally I was gonna have Eridan be the “Malfoy” character, but it just makes so much more sense to have it be Dave with the way the social order works now. Don’t you think Dave would be a great bully? I’d thank him for his bullyings. As for John being the antagonist; I did say I was trying to shoehorn Homestuck into my original magic system; john’s a blue character and Blue is bad juju, just the way the cookie crumbled. In fact, I only decided to go through with it to see if I could convincingly make John be an antagonist. How am I doing?


	8. We’re Not Getting Back to Karkat Yet, Are We?

Jack Noir woke up in the most comfortable damn bed he had ever slept in. The bad news is that he was surrounded by Frenchmen in preposterous wigs trying to dress him up like a poof. He jumped out of bed and they immediately surged forwards with an expression on their faces that reminded him of intoxicated vultures (he gets bored sometimes, so sue him). Good lord but he detested the nobility, and especially the French. That’s why he moved to America; no nobles and plenty of French to murder without somebody going after him. Well, nobody except that guy. He was a tough bastard, even without magic. It took all of Jack’s skill to take down the bounty hunter, ol’ whathisname. Egbert something. Yeah. He respected that guy as much as he respected anybody who wasn’t himself. God, though, now to think about it, hadn’t someone else come close to killing Jack after him? Yes, but he got them confused. They looked pretty similar. Now THAT guy had mopped the floor with him, Jack remembered. Though to be fair, that guy had gotten the drop on Jack, stalking him to his hideout, blasting down his doors with a goddamn personal hurricane, and then coming at him with a goddamn mallet the size of size of himself and a fucking iron stake. And then he’d just….let him go? Must have, else Jack wouldn’t be here now.  
Even though he was currently surrounded by people who were probably confusing him with whatever rich bastard’s bed he’d been sleeping in, he took the time to grab one by neck and politely explain to him why it’s rude to watch somebody sleep like some kind of creeper you stupid son of a bitch—  
Goddamn, he shook the guy too hard and broke him and now everyone is panicking. A little voice in the back of his head is screaming in horror about being possessed, but Jack crushes it like an insect and it goes silent except for some vague whimpering. Jack isn’t possessed. He’s never felt more like himself before. To prove it, he sets one of the bastards on fire with a flick of his wrist and calls him a bit fancy. He falls to the floor, already dead; the others scream in terror and run out of the room, shrieking like women about how “Le roi est devenu fou! Il est possede par le Diable!” Jesus fuck, why does Jack know French now!?  
One of them stayed behind, a slick looking ponce, darker skinned than the others, like he’s done a day’s work in his life. He has a pencil thin moustache and is dressed all in black, with a simple pattern of red diamonds on the lapels. At least this one has actual taste in clothes, Jack thought, despite wearing one of those stupid wigs. “Take the rat off your head if your gonna hang with me,” Jack commanded.  
He complied readily, removing the wig with a flourish. “As your majesty requires,” he said with a slight inclination of his head, as if he thought whoever this majesty was wasn’t very much of one—  
Hold on; he’d called Jack MAJESTY? “I don’t think you know who I am, diamonds,” Jack started, about to lay the verbal smack down on this chump, when said chump interrupted him.  
“Whoever you once may have been,” he said, producing a box of cigars, “You are now the king of France.” He lit a cigar on the smoldering nobleman in the middle of the room. The voice in the back of Jack’s head moaned in terror. Jack shut him up and asked diamonds for a cigar.

The sun was beginning to set, washing the school in gentle gold and orange tones. It was nearly suppertime, but Jade wasn’t hungry. She was storming down the hall, not heading anywhere in particular, though now it was more to get away from Terezi than for the simple joys of walking, a sense of impending dread and horror building in her stomach ever since the other girl had mentioned Jane and John. She didn’t think she’d ever hated anyone until she met Terezi. In some perverse way she felt almost invigorated by the fact, and immediately felt bad about feeling invigorated. The other girl was just so strange, and the way she taunted Jade sometimes was just frightening. Jade now understood why normal people would burn suspected witches only a century ago, despite being one herself—  
The sense of dread that she’d had since her encounter with Terezi was now mounting to a full out panic. She had to run somewhere, now. There was something stalking her, she could feel it, as she had felt it every day since—  
And suddenly there was a terrible pain all through the center of her body. Jade fell to her knees and started to dry heave. She could sense him now, he was here, they weren’t even twins but the sibling bond was strong enough to alert her to his presence. That’s what her grandfather had been counting on when he put that thing on her. She hated it, but it was for her own good, it would keep her safe, but the few times she’d needed it had been so painful it felt like she was being torn in half. It’s how it felt now. She couldn’t walk anymore, so she called for her guardian spirit. She couldn’t reach her bells, but she didn’t need them. Becquerel always knew when she needed him.  
He padded in out of nowhere, the huge dog spirit, and lifted her up onto his shoulders as gently as if she were his pup. Delirious with the pain now, she stroked his head, calling him the best dog ever and her truest friend. The few other delinquents not heading for the dining hall stared at her as she mumbled to her patron, invisible to most of their eyes, muttering sweet nothings into ears they couldn’t see, dangling above the ground like some possessed ragdoll, giggling because otherwise she’d be crying. She had the vague idea that she should go see Redglare. Well, Becquerel would know, he was privy to all her contingency plans. He’d take her to Redglare, and then, when the danger had passed, they would leave the Scholomance. It was no longer safe.

Karkat screamed as the crocodilian snout of the hideous creature closed around his throat, the crystalline shards of teeth feeling as sharp as broken glass as they pressed slowly against the skin of his neck, slowly, inexorably, getting closer and closer to drawing his precious life’s blood with every passing second….  
What the Hell was taking this thing so long? It should just kill him and have done—  
Ah, thought Karkat as he opened his eyes, noticing two things immediately. For one thing, he was emitting a charge of red lightning, meaning that his powers had activated. For another thing, everyone around him was moving nearly imperceptibly slow. From the panicked looks on their faces they were still as surprised as Karkat had been a few minutes ago, though from their perspective it was still happening. All except Nepeta that is, who had fired off an arrow which was at the moment slowly speeding for the creature. Damn fine reflexes, he admitted, in that annoying monotonous calm that he always felt after doing a significant amount of magic, but he could tell she was going to miss. Either she was a lousy shot or she had gone wide deliberately so as to not hit Karkat. Karkat pulled himself out from under the monster, scraping his hands against its stony scales, and picked up his tricorne, slapping off the snow before planting it firmly on his head. He then pushed the gargoyle upright, posing it in such a way that the arrow would hit it in the eye. It was very tricky work that took up many of his minutes. He started to worry, itself a sign that he would probably be getting back to real time soon. He was probably going to remember this, he hoped, unlike his first meeting with Eridan, or so he’d heard. Bah.  
Interacting with objects in stopped time, he knew, was perfectly fine. Interacting with objects at heavily augmented temporal speeds, however, gave him some nasty friction burns. His work done, he stepped a ways aside and plunged his sore hands into the snow, stifling a scream as he snapped back to his normal emotional state. What a weird, convoluted mental block he had, Karkat thought, as time shifted back into place.  
There was a wet thump followed by a heavy thud and a great deal of footsteps crunching over the snow towards Karkat while the gargoyle gurgled its life away in the background. Kanaya pulled him up to his feet and into a warm embrace. “Are you injured?”  
Karkat held up his bloody raw hands. “No, it only seems as if some hunter has skinned my hands to make himself a new pair of gloves, but I assure you, it’s only excruciating. I don’t suppose anyone knows enough White magic—”  
Eridan rushed forward, rod out and glowing with silvery light, swinging it like a conductor’s baton over Karkat’s hand. The skin knit itself back into its proper place and the burning sensation dulled to a mild itch. “How’d you do that, Kar?”  
Karkat rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding me? You of all people forgot what my Color is after I allegedly tried to murder you with it on the first day we ever met?”  
Eridan shook his head, grinning. “Bugger off Kar.”  
“Why do you always think I’m joking?” He began, but stopped when he saw Calliope scribbling furiously in one of her leather tomes. How did she carry the bloody things? “Where did Strider and his lackeys get to?”  
Calliope looked up. “Oh, they ran off, but not back to the Scholomance. Towards the woods. I don’t suppose they will give up on their wish that easily.” She grinned evilly. “I doubt they’ll be getting very far however.”  
Karkat raised an eyebrow.  
Calliope giggled. “Have you noticed that we can still understand one another, despite being outside the school’s boundaries?”  
Karkat nodded. “How does that work?”  
“Are you familiar with the tower of Babel? God sent his angels down to confuse the builder’s tongues and that’s why we have so many languages in the world. It stands to reason that an angel could do the opposite,” she said with just a hint of smugness.  
Karkat still didn’t get it, but Kanaya went “ah,” and said, “Your patron spirit is a Cherub. I see.”  
Calliope put her hands behind her back, beaming pleasantly as if she were a coy student being praised for her recitation skills. “Yes! We can all still talk to each other no problem!” She turned south. “But they can’t.”  
Eridan smiled gleefully. “Calliope, that is devious!” He looked at her appraisingly, as if seeing her for the first time.  
She gasped, hand on her heart. “No! I’m a good girl I swear! I don’t deceive people, I just neglected to inform them of any innate disadvantage they might have against me!”  
Hand on his chin, he said, “You would do quite well at court, I think.”  
Calliope colored slightly, “really?” she muttered.  
Karkat whistled very loudly to attract the attention of the rest of the group, who were busily examining the dead gargoyle. “You lot! Let’s get a damn move on! The Questing Bitch isn’t going to catch itself and make a wish on itself!” He paused a moment, considering. “Probably. For all I bloody know.”  
Everyone shuffled past him as he stood leaning against a tree, arms folded authoritatively. “Good show old boy!” said Jakob. “You have certainly proven yourself very bold in magical fisticuffs—”  
“Move it Anglika the lesser!” Karkat snapped, and Jakob hurried after Kanaya, Gamzee, and Tavros. “Anglika the greater! Ampora! You can gossip as you walk! We’re not out here for our health!” Calliope colored and ran off after her brother, muttering that technically they were out here for someone’s health as Eridan shuffled along behind her.  
Nepeta was the last one along, holding her bow in her right hand, a sad look on her face. With her left, she grabbed Karkat’s arm and pulled him along with surprising strength, nearly yanking him to the ground. “I’m sorry Karkitty,” she said, making big puppy-dog eyes at him.  
“For what!?” he gasped. He was a bit flustered with her seeming forwardness.  
“I said that I was good at these sorts of things, and the first minute we’re outside the barrier, you get attacked!” She looked down at her shuffling feet. “It was all my fault you were hurt, and I’m sorry.”  
With his free hand, Karkat smacked his forehead. “How could you have known? Don’t worry about it like an idiot, it won’t accomplish anything. Besides, I only hurt myself getting out from under the thing, and I’m better now,” Karkat looked her in the eye. “When I slowed down time, I saw that while everyone else was panicking, you’d already loosed a shot. You killed it before it could do anything else.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her that her shot would have missed. “Right now, you’re probably the one I can rely on most.”  
She beamed. “Don’t worry Karkat!” she said, squeezing herself into his arm. She only barely came up to his shoulder. “I promise I’ll keep you safe no matter what!”  
“Um—” he began, but did not finish, as she pulled him with great speed toward the rest of the group.

Porrim’s voice was husky, smooth, and dark, like good coffee. It really was a treat listening to her, which played a large role in David’s having her in the gang at all. “Nereye gidiyoruz?” she asked. David had no idea what she had just said. He asked her to speak up, but the beautiful girl just wrinkled her sun-darkened brow as she heard him babble at her in some barbaric Western tongue.  
Damara was the first to notice what had happened. “Kawaii!” she shouted, and proceeded to say “Zettai ni anata no daremoga Damara hito no o shiri ni kisu o suru koto o kangei shimasu! Arigatō, sutekina tsuitachi o sugosu.”  
Caliborn rubbed his hands together. “Den xéro̱ ti eípe, allá nomízo̱ óti mou arései!” He said, a creepy grin on his face.  
“Cut that shit out,” said David. “I speak Greek.” He slapped himself in the forehead, realizing he’d said that in English. “Kópste ta skatá éxo̱, miláo̱ elli̱niká.”  
Caliborn looked crestfallen. Damara was currently verbally harassing Jeffrey and Broderick, who were getting into a shoving match over what exactly she was saying and to whom while Porrim looked on indifferently. “Alright, I know you two speak English,” David said, not quite shouting because men of his quality did not shout, they simply raised their voice. The two quieted, though Broderick, ever the crueler, had to elbow Jeffrey in the ribs one last time. “Now come along. We should have suspected something of the kind. We didn’t, and that’s our fault, but we’re going to get our wish, because we deserve it.” He pointed northwards. “And they are probably going through the same thing we are right now, so we’re even.”  
The group walked on in silence for a while. Once again, there was nothing but the crunch of snow beneath their feet, the hooting of owls, and the near imperceptible white noise of the stars that only magi could hear. Then there was a snapping of a twig, a flash of white hooves crashing through the undergrowth, and a shout from Porrim, “Bakın! Bir at adam!” And suddenly David was running after the retreating white figure. After several second’s hesitation, the others followed after him, Porrim’s cries of “Neden çalışan? Bu canavar değil!” notwithstanding. David thought she sounded apprehensive, like she thought they should stop. He didn’t know why or care to know, he just wanted his wish. He deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Poof’ is fairly salty language in the UK and the Commonwealth, so I apologize to any reader who hails from there, though to be fair this is a Homestuck fic, and the Homestuck tag’s good for a thousand language tags. I suppose Jade is feeling black for Terezi? I only realized that after I’d written the section. I always figured the troll romance things were cultural constructions and not biological ones, so I think it applies. I assure you that that’s as cracky as the ships will get unless I change my mind about Gamzee/anyone.  
> What follows is a brief recap of the magical colors and skills present in the setting, which has nothing to do with Homestuck, so be warned. Red: control over physical forces in ascending order of difficulty; electromagnetism, gravity, time. They tend to be arrogant. A favorite tactic is to create a weapon from ambient metals. Green: spiritual magic. Has many neat passive abilities such as Terezi’s ‘third eye’, Green magi have patron spirits that they can call on for help. In return though, they need to serve the spirit in whatever weird hermetic way a spirit can need servitude. Yellow: control over plants, power comes from the sun, whom they revere as the Yellow Lady. They tend to be belligerent, surprisingly enough. Violet: communion with animals, shapeshifting; power comes from the collective unconscious of every animal life form, called the “Violetessence”. Black: boring old elemental magic, alchemical transmutation. Jack Noir is a Black who specializes in fire, Typheus, the weather-mage John stole from, was also Black. White: magic music, one creates harmony with the universe for helpful spells and dissonance for harmful ones. The least intuitive form to use. Pink: crazy quantum physics breaking bullshit. It’s like glitching the universe. The power is the least understood, one of the rarest, and just barely tolerated. Bronze: the Earth loves you and wants to make you happy. The power is almost as rare as Pink and most of the practitioners aren’t human. Derogatorily referred to as “Brown” and “Shit-Colored”. Usually listed as the complimentary pair for Pink, but that’s just speculation. Blue: ever read the Final Empire books? It’s basically like Hemalurgy, and I only realized this a few days ago. For those of you who haven’t, Blue magi can remove parts of other people’s souls and implant them in someone else. It can be memories, powers, attributes, etc. Forbidden because of its squickiness and tendency to drive practitioners insane. Orange: the rarest power, it’s basically thoughtform. If you can think it, you can make it happen, at least for a bit. It tears up your body something nasty though. If Blue is forbidden because it mutilates the soul, Orange is forbidden because it mutilates the body. Colorless: the most forbidden power of all. Unlike the others, this is a conscious choice and involves giving yourself to the outer dark, replacing your magic with this crap. Some magi would use the term ‘Colorless’ how we use ‘unholy’. Naturally, there a fewer and different colors than the ones on the hemospectrum. I lumped together the different blood shades under one magic color, hence why Karkat and Aradia are both simply Red rather than maroon and candy red, and why Feferi will be Pink rather than ‘Tyrian purple” (also I’m a guy, and it’s been scientifically proven that girls see colors more distinctly than guys, so your weird purple is just pink to me). Next time we meet Doc Scratch, I’ll tell you what a Solomonar is.


	9. Ooh!  Ooh!  Can Dave Have a POV Section?

….How about a whole fucking chapter?  
As David ran, he augmented gravity, making himself lighter, practically leaping with every step. Any more augmentation and he would take flight. The Questing Beast was far ahead of him, its silvery white form obscured by the dark shadows of the trees and the whiteness of the snow. It was still too far for him to try to slow down its time, an unusually short effective range for his powers was one of the few flaws he recognized in himself, but David was gaining, he could tell.  
Porrim ran alongside him, or rather hovered alongside, so it seemed. He skirt trailed on the ground and her movements were as a rule so graceful he couldn’t tell when she moved her legs. It occurred to him that the girl was not normal. She turned to him and shouted something, pointing ahead at the Beast and shaking her head. Damn, if only he knew what she meant.  
Caliborn was close behind, whooping like an Indian for the thrill of the chase. It occurred to David that he probably couldn’t trust the boy to hold to their agreement. He still remembered Caliborn’s face when he’d made the proposition, sneering, as if he’d admitted to some weakness. Maybe he had.  
But Caliborn was simple—not unintelligent, merely easy. He might try to trip up David at the finish line and steal his wish, but he would simply let things be if David ‘won’ the competition.  
Bringing up the rear, Broderick and Jeffrey made a mockery of everything he admired with their slow wits and general brutishness. But it was so fun to watch, almost perversely so….  
The Beast turned towards the left very suddenly, and David did take flight. He wasn’t as good at gravity as he should have been and slammed into a tree to the eternal amusement of Caliborn, judging by his cackling guffaw. But, setting his jaw, David kicked off the tree and sped into the darkness like an arrow for the Beast’s hide. A twig smacked his spectacles clean off his face, and he thought he was lucky it didn’t break them and leave him blind. But even if they had, he thought, the principle thing was to get his wish.  
The ground beneath was becoming uneven and rocky, and the others were having a difficult time keeping up; even Porrim was lagging behind somewhat. The Scholomance sat in a sort of a jagged stone cup, with high ridges along the south and east of the wooded area, dotted here and there with caves. The Beast ducked into one of those caves at great speed, and David dove in after it, accelerating to breakneck speeds.  
He tackled it to the ground as he restored his gravity to normal, grabbing it by the waist—  
Wait. Deer don’t have waists. Also it’s kind of small. And….mustachioed. David had just dive tackled an albino centaur, and it was glaring at him. It—he—stood up, completely unharmed, and roughly dragged up David, forcing his arms behind his back, and ramming David up against the wall.  
He was too bewildered to react with more than confused grunting. From his vantage, he could see that the cave was somehow well-lit despite appearing dark from outside, and that the elder Zahhak brother, Horuss, was watching him with amusement from the back of the cave, which was furnished with several overlarge couches. He’d never noticed before how large the man was. He was a giant really; it was just that his brother was a bloody leviathan so he looked small by comparison. He signaled to the centaur, saying “Setzen Sie ihn nach unten, Aurthour. Er ist nur ein dummer Schüler.”  
David sputtered. “Excuse me? I know what that means,” he said, as the centaur released him. He saw that Equius was there also, laying facedown on a table with his shirt off. There were six unsightly metal protrusions along his spine, which seemed to reflect a much bluer light than what was in the cave. He looked up. “Master Strider. I am sorry that you have to see me like this,” he said in English, indicating the spikes.  
At that precise moment, the others finally caught up and entered the cave. “YES! Make the fuckin’ wish mate,” Jeffrey shouted. Broderick cuffed him in the ear. “You stupid fookin’ lout, that’s not a deer!” Damara cuffed the both of them and pointed towards the Zahhak siblings. “What the buggering—” Broderick began, only to be smacked again. Aurthour eyed them suspiciously, and then trotted over towards Equius, producing several herbs, which he began to combine in a mortar.  
Equius cleared his throat. “I suppose I should explain. When we were very young Horuss and I were experimented upon by a Blue mage. Aurthour,” he indicated the centaur, “rescued us, and raised us as his own. The Blue mage was fairly incompetent, so from time to time I require this treatment to keep from becoming ill.”  
David nodded. “Is that why you’re so strong then?”  
Equius chuckled, a sound not unlike an avalanche. “No, that comes from a lifetime of drinking centaur’s milk. The spikes gave me the power to sense and dispel magic. The same power is working against them however, so they hurt from time to time instead of behaving like a natural part of my body, like many Blue magi profess.”  
Horuss cleared his throat. “With that mystery solved,” he said, removing his monocle to polish it, “I’m afraid you’re all going to have to stay here for the night. You see, there are many dangerous animals out here in the woods, and you’re lucky to have gotten this far without meeting one.” His voice was dripping with melancholy, but also a hint of quiet acceptance. It reminded David of a grave-digger. He put the monocle back on and noticed that half of the students were looking at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. He sighed, producing a small object like a silver candle made of clockwork. He fidgeted around with it until it lit. “This carries a language field like the one at the school,” he said, and repeated his earlier message.  
Jeffrey jumped up and down, waving his arms enthusiastically, before asking, “Mate, where do you have your spikes!?”  
Broderick smacked him. “Buggering Christ, you can’t just ask people where they have spikes you fookin’ wanker!”  
“Language please!” Equius rumbled, and David could swear the air in front of him vibrated, while Horuss smiled and tapped his eye patch. David felt his skin crawl.  
Porrim spoke up at last. “Masters, we did, in fact, encounter a creature on our way here—”  
David cleared his throat. “Maybe you shouldn’t say anything about that Porrim.”  
She ignored him and continued. “We came out here with another group of students and they encountered a gargoyle.”  
David interrupted her. “They killed it, I saw. Then they probably went back to the castle. Almost certainly. They’re cowards and—” he caught himself before calling them feeble-colored. No point in offending anyone now.  
Horuss groaned. “We didn’t want to alarm you, but, earlier tonight, we found signs that a werewolf has been in the area recently. Maybe two. No idea how they reached this elevation, but it’s true. They are much more dangerous than anything that normally lives in these woods,” he explained.  
Caliborn snorted, speaking up for the first time, surprisingly. “So? It’s not a full moon tonight. Even if there are a dozen werewolves, they’ll just be, you know, a bunch of guys right now. We can handle that.”  
David slapped his forehead. “Caliborn, don’t speak unless you have something intelligent to say. Which is to say, don’t speak.” Jeffrey and Broderick hollered with laughter. Damara grinned and Porrim rolled her eyes. Caliborn growled animalistically. David was beginning to see that Caliborn was, in many ways, an animal. “It’s just a myth that werewolves only come out on full moons. They could turn at anytime with little warning, that’s what makes them dangerous.”  
“Indeed it is,” intoned Horuss. “Equius, I’ll need you to look after these children, I’ll go and fetch the rest. Do you know where they went?”  
Porrim said immediately, before David could speak, “They went north from the castle.” Horuss nodded, put on a large leather coat, and headed off into the darkness.  
David looked at her, considering. Porrim produced his spectacles and handed them to him without a word. She no longer found him amusing, he could tell, and to be honest he was getting a bit tired of her too. It was clear to him now that she had seen the centaur for what it was, which is why she’d been trying to discourage him from catching it, but why reveal that Vantas and the others were out here? They would probably tell Horuss about the Beast and then he’d never get his wish. No, he was reaching, trying to find someone to blame, but dammit, now he would never get to see his brother again.  
He’d tried to play it down, as if this entire journey were just a lark. He made up the competition aspect of it to make it seem like he didn’t care. He’d told the gang that he wanted his brother alive because his father had hated him, it would be a great prank on the old bastard. Some of them had probably fallen for it. Caliborn clearly hadn’t. Neither had Porrim, but that had been alright, for a while. She’d felt sympathy for him, and sympathy was something he’d rarely had before. While it lasted it had been very…sweet.  
Damara probably didn’t care either way.  
They all sat in silence while Equius received his treatment. David noticed that he was younger than he’d first assumed; he couldn’t be more than eighteen. When he was finished, the enormous man offered them a snack. He had Aurthour set an overlarge table, not the one he had been lying on, thankfully, with bread, butter, cream, and several large pitchers of milk, and the group set to immediately. Running through the woods at night was hungry work.  
Soon, Broderick and Jeffrey were laughing and joking as if things were normal, but it seemed to David that his capital little gang was beginning to splinter. Caliborn was gearing up to challenge him, and David wasn’t entirely sure that he could beat him. Porrim had clearly grown disillusioned with him though he didn’t understand why. She’d be leaving soon. Damara….well he’d never been sure about Damara. She’d probably go with whoever was most fun. David didn’t care. Just move onto the next thing, like Dirk would have.  
David took a sip of his milk. It was delicious, incredibly rich and silky. He drained the cup and poured himself another one. Then he noticed Equius draining one of the pitchers by himself, and remembered what he’d said. Could…this be….centaur’s milk? David recalled reading somewhere that both males and females of the species produced milk. He looked at the strange, pallid creature with the magnificent handlebar mustache. His hands started shaking uncontrollably.  
“Are you all right Master Strider?” Equius sounded legitimately concerned. David nodded, and said he was simply cold. “Perhaps you should lay down,” said Equius. “My old room is over there,” he pointed to the opposite side of the cave, where door had been carved in the bare stone. It was partially opened, and he could see moonlight on the other side; there was a very small window.  
David instantly improvised an idea. He paused time for himself. While he could slow time to a crawl for about an hour, he could only pause it altogether for thirty of his altered seconds, so he worked quickly. He found a bit of scrap paper in his pocket and a small lump of charcoal, which he used for his ‘art’, like what he’d done to the dining hall, and scribbled a note. “Distract him”, it said. He pressed it into Damara’s hand, hoping she’d go for it, and resumed his position as well as he could. “I think I will at that,” he said. He looked at Porrim and raised an eyebrow. “Care to join me pet?”  
Broderick and Jeffrey hooted while Porrim became progressively more red, and Equius, breaking out into a sweat, exclaimed “Young sir, that is most inappropriate!” This of course gave Damara plenty of time to see the note, read it, and dispose of it discreetly. As David pushed back his chair and walked away, she undid her hair bun, shaking her head around to make it into a carefully ordered mess, placing the end of a single chestnut lock in her mouth, and slid her chair over so it was almost touching Equius’s. Gently, she latched onto his arm with one hand, playing with a long strand of hair in the other. “Tell Damara more about yourself big man,” she said.  
“Y-young lady I—”  
She gently stroked his arm. “So big and muscular, you could probably crush poor Damara easily.…” She pulled her legs up onto her chair and curled up against him. “Damara wants to hear your stories.” The other boys began to tease Equius relentlessly as David slunk into the room.  
It was small, sparsely furnished but for a few eerie clockwork dolls, a chair, a chest of clothes, and what to Equius may have been a cot, but to David would be a more than comfortable bed, above which was the window. Too big to slip through, but the stone looked thin enough…  
He jammed the door with the chair, weighing it down with the chest and the dolls, then jumped up onto the bed. He then did two things; he slowed down time to about a fourth of its usual pace, and he shook his coat out.  
It was a common tactic among sufficiently powerful Reds to use electromagnetism on the ambient metals in an environment to forge crude weapons. There were a great deal of flaws in it of course. There might not be enough metal, the available metal was always of variable quality or an unsuitable type such as lead, and often the resulting weapon would be of vastly inferior quality, since it would be used so quickly after forging, without cooling it at all. Some, like Caliborn, simply made crude projectiles like spears or cannonballs and flung them with magic without ever having to touch. A crude tactic, but an effective one. David however, had taken these flaws and carefully removed them. He’d studied extensively as to what makes a good sword until he thought he could forge one in his sleep. More importantly, he always had on his person several pounds of finely ground weapons-grade steel, sprinkled evenly on his clothing and held on with magnetism. It was considered the least of the Red powers, but he found it by far the most useful.  
With a thought, he arranged all of that steel dust into the shape of a sword, welding it together with red lightning. He kept it hot so as keep it easy to repair, with the added bonus of making it into handheld lightning bolt. It was in fact, too hot for him to touch; he always wore gloves when handling the thing, and even then he only appeared to hold it, actually manipulating it with magnetism. He called her Blazing Hot Betty. He started to cut, the smell of burning rock filling the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for Dave to take over the whole chapter. He just did. Damn swag *shakes fist skyward*.  
> For some reason, I listened to “Sweet—A Trickster Jane Fansong” by PhemieC all throughout the chase section. Make of this what you will.  
> I guess Porrim and Dave had something going on? And I just said ships wouldn’t be too cracky! Gah. His sword is named after the sword in A Beginner’s Guide to the End of the Universe, an amazing adventure…in the STYLE of Homestuck, over on MS Paint Fan Adventures. Go read it.  
> There aren’t any centaurs in my original ‘verse, so I decided to transplant Aurthour as is. I can honestly see a joke like what happened with the centaur milk happening in canon. There are, by the way, trolls, but my trolls are completely incompatible with Homestuck, let’s just ignore them.  
> I apologize for the lateness of the previous chapter, as well as last third of the previous chapter, as at the exact moment that Karkat dragged himself out from under that gargoyle, I was struck near dead by a fatal head cold. I continued working on it and it was technically done on Thursday night, but I didn’t proofread it until yesterday when I was still suffering delirium. As a result I think I failed a bit at capturing the character’s voices faithfully and all that good stuff. This chapter too, as I don’t think I did Dave as well as I know I can, and I barely put any thought into Porrim at all. Caliborn could have been better, as could have been Horuss. Damara, however, was as perfect as could be without having her actually say any of that crazy shit she says. You know, translation convention and all. Ah well, I think this chapter was actually just better writing overall, despite these flaws.  
> As to the characters, I could have sworn Porrim was an Arabic name, but it’s actually Roman. I still stand by my decision to make her Turkish. Also, Horuss’s choice of eyewear is a shout out to director Fritz Lang. If you know who he is, you might have an inkling of what I have planned for the Zahhaks. Dave…the fandom has an odd tendency to make him a victim. He isn’t one. He’s probably the most emotionally vulnerable of the four original kids, and I’m playing to that aspect of him in this story, but he is not and never will be a victim. Also, I love my idea to have the character-arc of Mr. Irony have so much DRAMATIC irony involved; you know, the difference between what the audience knows and what the characters know? “He’s so clever”, you say. Announcements coming up in the next chapter that might be of interest to some, which will have the longest note yet! Didn’t I used to do previews or some shit?


	10. Can Something Introduced Earlier Have A Payoff Yet?

An hour into the hike, Nepeta found tracks.  Cloven hooves the size of potlids, with two little holes behind from the dew claws.  It was not the size of the tracks that was unusual however, but the fact that they were sunken into a stone cropping out of the ground, while the surrounding snow was undisturbed.  “God’s  wounds,” muttered Jakob.  “Surely this is ancient?  Mud hardened into stone after centuries?”

            Tavros cleared his throat from his vantage on Gamzee’s shoulder, holding onto the other boy’s horn with the other.  “Um, the stones around here are volcanic, not sedimentary.”

            Nepeta leaned down and touched it.  “It’s warm; maybe he’s close!  What else do the stones say?”

            “Um, can you set me down on the rock, Gamzee?”  Gamzee obliged, lifting Tavros over his head and setting him on the hoofprint in a lotus position.  Tavros tightened his silvery scarf against the cold and closed his eyes, gently stroking the surface with one finger.  The stone rippled like water beneath his touch, for a monet.  And then, his big brown eyes snapped open.  “He went uphill!”  He was trembling with giddiness.  Or maybe it was just the cold.

            The group had cycled around to the east side of the plateau, where there were high, steep ridges.  “We can’t really get up there, can we?” Calliope asked, looking downcast.  “I suppose this is it then?”

            Nepeta laughed, hands on her hips.  “Of course not!  Those things slope on the other side.  We’ll only have a tricky hike to the outside of the cup, and then it’s smooth walking all the way to the top!”  She pointed at a narrow, craggy pass, more a fissure in the rock, a half hour’s march ahead.

            Karkat slapped his forehead.  “I guess I’m just a bit spoiled, having magic three times a day when I’m angry enough has just accustomed me to things being easy!”

 

            The wind whistled through the pass, keeping it clear of snow.  The near vertical walls of sharp, lumpy black stone to either side of the steep path, barely wide enough for the kids to walk single file, served as a frame for the night sky, making it seem as if this were a walkway out into the open air and oblivion.  Wide-eyed, Tavros asked Nepeta, “Are you, um, sure the pass goes where you think it does?”

            Nepeta giggled.  “No!  It’s just a ramp off the side of the mountain.  We’re gonna go fly Tavros!”

            “Don’t be teasing him little sister,” Gamzee chided.  Or rather, from anyone else it would have been a chide, but his mellow Creole accented voice just made it seem like a friendly reminder.  “Besides, you could just ask the motherfuckin’ stones little villain.”

            Tavros touched one of the sharp black walls as they walked along, scraping his finger slightly.  “Um, these ones aren’t very friendly,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

            Gamzee nodded, as if he were simply content to know, and then jumped fifteen feet in the air, landing gracefully on a narrow shelf of rock where the fissure widened out some, clambering across the near vertical walls of the pass as easily as if he were walking on smooth ground, no, more so.  Tavros screamed.  Nepeta announced that she would join them, and climbed up the walls as nimbly as a lizard, and started chasing Gamzee.  The three started leaping back and forth over the path, Tavros’s screams filling the night.

            Kanaya stopped dead in her tracks at the sight, heart jumping into her throat.  She collected herself, and raised her hands to her mouth.  “Get down from there this INSTANT before one of you falls down and breaks their spine!”  She considered what she’d just said.  “Again!”

            “Yeah,” Karkat shouted in agreement.  “We don’t need our two woodsmen and our one stone talker smeared all across the mountainside like someone swatted a fly against the wall!  What’s the point in wishing for Tavros’s legs to work when his head’s burst like an overripe melon?”

            Tavros shrieked in terror.  Kanaya smacked Karkat in the back of the head.  “Don’t scare them Karkat, it’ll just make it impossible to get them down.”

            “I’M QUEEN OF THE WORLD!” shouted Nepeta, ignoring them and pouncing onto Gamzee’s back, causing him to teeter forward dangerously.

            “Oh shit little villains I’m gonna fall,” said Gamzee, teetering to almost a ninety degree angle on the tips of his hooves while Tavros and Nepeta screamed, one for horror and one for fun.  Gamzee immediately righted himself.  “False alarm,” he said, lightly hopping down right in front of Karkat, who immediately rounded on him.

            “Stop screwing around you inebriated moron!” he said, poking Gamzee in the chest.  “The rest of you too—”

            Kanaya roughly shoved past him, and for a very awkward moment both of them were crushed up against the pass’s walls, and Kanaya was afraid that they would be stuck forever, but she managed to squeeze through.  “That was selfish and irresponsible Gamzee,” she said, her voice quiet and sharp like a knife, slapping him on the cheek.  “You too Nepeta, you could have gotten all three of you killed.  Tavros are you alright?”

            Tavros gulped.  “Um, yes, I would say that I am, well.  But I think maybe you shouldn’t—”

            She raised her finger sharply, cutting off further commentary.  “Don’t defend him Tavros; we’re all here for your sake, like Karkat mentioned so…eloquently earlier,” she said, turning to glare at her adoptive brother.

            He didn’t get the message.  “And stop screaming too!  You’ll scare the beast off, and then where will we be?!  Out in the cold with our dicks in our hands while Strider laughs his pretentious bespectacled head off on top of his pile of nubile Green women!  Or whatever the fuck he’ll wish for—”

            Eridan laughed to himself as the altercation continued.  “They aren’t very mature, are they Cal?  Not like us—”

            Calliope sputtered, and then shoved past Eridan, taking a moment to press him flat against the wall first to facilitate her passage.  Puffing out her chest and drawing herself up to her full height, which was admittedly not very much, she addressed her friends.  “Karkat, Kanaya, everyone,” she said, just loud enough to be assertive, “I think the best thing to do is simply stop blocking the path and go on with trying to find the Beast!”

            Everyone glanced down shamefacedly, and quickly ambled off up the path, growing ever steeper.  Eridan jogged after Calliope.  “That was really good Cal,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, “just brilliant how you took control like—“

            She brushed his hand away and shot him a glare over her shoulder, never breaking stride.  “Leave me alone Eridan.”

            It was Eridan’s turn to sputter.  “W-what?  I-I just-just….we were getting along so well!”  She jogged away, and he stopped in his tracks.  “Huh?”

            Jakob put his hand on Eridan’s shoulder.  “Jesus Christ!” he said, jumping.  “I’m sorry Jake, I forgot you were there.”

            “Jake?  What name is this?  But ‘tis alright, friend” he said, with a smile.  “And women’s hearts are fickle things, which churn about like the seas in a tempest.”  Eridan nodded.  “Especially,” Jakob added, hand on his chin, with a nod that spoke of many hours spent in study of the subject, “when you call them by their least favorite sibling’s nickname.”

            Eridan’s jaw dropped as the realization hit.  He ran.  “Wait!  Callie!  Do you like that instead!?  Callie!”

 

            The pass became narrower and narrower, until even rail-thin Kanaya had to ascend sideways in places.  She even gave permission for Gamzee to walk above them again, as there would be no way to bring Tavros up otherwise.  It became steeper, until it was almost a stair, and the sky above seemed so far away it felt like they were miles underground.  All talking, joking, and pleading eventually subsided, defeated by the tiring, mindless mechanical work of climbing through this narrow tomb, all except for a song Nepeta sang to herself about a woman named Morgause and a knight.  It ended tragically, from what Kanaya could hear over the whistling of the wind, and it too stopped.  The great spangled vault ahead of them dominated their view, like a window into the nothing.  Kanaya briefly entertained the thought that they would never reach it.  No, she thought, if they did reach it, they wouldn’t be able to stop.  They would just keep on going, and they would fly off like Nepeta had said, fly off over the edge.  But what a relief, she thought, to finally be off her feet.

            Nepeta called a halt, and Kanaya did keep walking, but fortunately Karkat was more attentive than her aching feet and she bumped into him.  “Are you okay?” he muttered. 

            Kanaya laughed a humorless laugh and shook her head.  “I think bits of me are going to start falling off.”

            “Me too,” he assured her.

            Nepeta spoke again.  “Alright, we are very high up, and the path ends right here,” she said, turning on her heel as if she were not standing on the edge of a disgustingly high precipice, shouting to be heard over the roaring of the wind.  “There is a very short path over to my right that will take us to much easier terrain, but it’s very narrow and scary.  Anyone who wants to turn back will have to do it right now!” While it seemed that one of Nepeta’s default expressions was ‘roguish grin’ and the other was ‘adorable’, she seemed very tired, and more incredibly sincere than anything else.  Nobody made a move to go, in some cases because there were still people behind them, and they were too tired to ask them to move.

            With that, Nepeta disappeared from view.  “Follow my voice!”  Soon, everyone was out on what Nepeta had called a path but Kanaya would call a ledge.  She wanted to grab hold of Karkat, but was afraid that if she did, she’d lose her balance and plunge the both of them over the edge into that greenness below.  How long it seemed since she had seen that much green.  How high up were they, to be surrounded by snow while the rest of the world was green?  She knew it was autumn now, but the leaves hadn’t even started turning.  Why was no one else sidling along the ledge?  What was that that Karkat was saying?  “Just come on, that’s right, you can do it, one step at a time, it’s not far at all.”  A hundred feet perhaps.  She heard some rocks settling above her and looked up.  There was Gamzee with Tavros, strolling along the near vertical mountainside like it weren’t even a thing; Tavros cling for dear life to Gamzee’s horns, reciting the Lord’s Prayer.  Looking up, Kanaya thought, was a bad mistake.  She’d been looking down the entire time so far, and that had done just fine for her, no matter what others might say.  Looking up, however, that let her see how goddamn close the stars were.  She could almost touch the blessed things.  She reached out a hand—

            And Karkat took it, and gently pulled her along with him, walking backwards, the brave thing.  She wanted to say something encouraging, but realized that it was her who needed the encouragement right now.  Karkat was doing great, she felt so proud.  She realized that some high pitched sound had been coming out of her mouth, and promptly bit it back.

            Then they were back on ground made of dirt and dead things with pine forest all around that didn’t just randomly end a foot away or become suddenly vertical.  True, it was at a stiff grade, but compared to her previous surroundings it was a paradise.  Kanaya sat down on the closest available stump, trembling.  Downhill from their location, the ground did suddenly end, she realized.  The school was inaccessible except by magic, the staff having destroyed the original road.  This lovely hillside couldn’t be reached except by that tiny crack they’d crawled through.  Kanaya wondered if they were the first people in the world to have come here.  No, Nepeta had been, she was the one who had led them here.  So brave, she thought, everyone except she herself.  She started to shiver.  Karat sat down next to her and put her arm around his shoulders.

           

            “Jakob, Calliope, stay here with Kanaya,” Karkat said about half an hour later.  The group had agreed that they should have a rest after the climbing ordeal.  The three were sitting midway between Kanaya’s stump and the Philosophy club.  “She’s in no fit state to go on.  Me and the others are gonna climb this hill and get the stupid Beast.”

            Jakob rubbed his head uncomfortably.  “Methinks the lady will not appreciate this,” at the same time as his sister said, “Maybe we should ask her first and see if she wants to go on?”

            Karkat groaned.  “Well of course she’s going to say that she wants to go on!  She wants to be the strong one for everyone else, but she can’t be right now!  So we’re gonna leave her here while you distract her,” he began to count off the reasons with his fingers, “because you’re the cuddliest members of our group who aren’t Nepeta, who we’ll probably still need up there.  Eridan would just try to court her or some nonsense and in the state she’s in he might succeed, and Gamzee and Tavros would just make her more upset with their dumbassery.”

            Jakob saluted unironically and said “It shall be done, my captain!” and set off downhill towards Kanaya.  Calliope lingered a moment and fiddled with her string tie.  “Are you absolutely—?”

            Karkat grabbed her shoulders and looked her dead in the eye.  “Kanaya is the first human being I ever laid eyes on.  I love her a great deal, and for some baffling unknown reason, I am intrusting you with her care while she is an emotionally fragile state.  With every moment that we waste here, that trust is depleting.  Soon, it will be gone, and I will be forced to throw you off the mountain.  I like you and don’t want to throw you off the mountain, but I’ll be duty bound to do it.  I can see you preparing to glomp me for secretly being the nicest guy in the world or some kind of horseshit, but that has already happened twice in as many days, and it wasn’t even funny the first time,” he let her go, “Now get to!  And don’t breathe a word of this to anyone!”

            She hugged him anyway, and said that the way he masked his true emotions behind a mask of anger was the most adorable thing she had ever seen, then skipped off.  “The fuck is wrong with some people?” he muttered.

           

            The climb up the hill was difficult, but a piece of cake compared to the pass.  A twisted path meandered through the pinewood, in places so dense that there was no light at all, but there was room to move and little fear of falling, and the trees sheltered them from the wind.  The party spent this hike in silence as well, but from anticipation rather than dread.  Now and then, they would find another strange track in the stones underneath, growing increasingly hotter and more frequent as they went on, and then Nepeta would alter their course slightly.  Karkat worried; a wish granting deer was one thing, but now he was imagining some monster that could burn stone with its bloody feet.  Would they have to fight it? 

            At long last, the trees thinned to the point that they saw the top of the ridge a few hundred feet ahead.  It was backlit by a bright, flickering white light, tinted with green and yellow.  “That’s it,” said Karkat.  “Nepeta, give me the gun,” he said, reaching out.

            She started.  “What?  No!  We’re not gonna hurt it Karkat!” she said, taking a step back.

            “I just won’t feel comfortable around whatever that thing is without some way to defend myself and you know I’m bad at magic.  I won’t shoot if I don’t have to, but give me the gun.”  She looked apprehensive.  Karkat tried to smile charmingly, and would have failed if he’d tried it on anyone else.  “Please, um, Catnep?”

            She bit her lower lip and groaned, knowing she was being taken advantage of, and handed it over.  The group hiked on in silence, anticipation growing.  They passed one last stand of trees on their way around the peak—

            And a battered and bloody David Strider burst through, pursued by a ravenous black werewolf, green eyes aflame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: wow, AO3 messed up my formatting majorly, it's fixed now. I'm so very sorry.  
> Kanaya, I'm sorry I gave you a fear of heights. I will make you badass later, you are best troll, *heart*  
> All right lads, writing this story has been incredibly fun, and has presented me with a variety of new challenges. As I’ve hinted at before, I’ve written extensively in the past, but never a fanfic. On the one hand it’s been very easy to write, just look at how many chapters I’ve written in like three weeks on AO3. On the other hand, I was constantly worrying about keeping the characters in character (I even put the Out of Character tag in case I failed), trying to mesh them with my invented world, and what’s more I’ve never written anything in this specific time period before, so getting the lingo and the culture and the history and the clothing was a whole other can of worms, and then I had to balance it with the character’s distinctly modern voices (and I think that’s the biggest failure in this fic). All the same it has been stupidly fun. I was surprised at how quickly this acquired so many views, even though I had figured going in that fanfics would naturally get views more quickly than original works since the people already know what they want (incidentally if you are interested in my original setting, you can find a few stories set there on fictionpress, and no, it’s not just this with the serial numbers filed off, they take place in the modern day and one's about superheroes). Yes, thank you for the overwhelmingly positive response, and those of you who have commented and bookmarked; I want your babies (I won’t raise them though).  
> Now, stories are tricky beasts. They’re not dead things you build but rather living things you grow, and they get away from you. This story was meant to be ten chapters at most, but is shaping up to be about twice that. As I discovered more about the characters I’d borrowed and the world I’d created, events that were planned to go one way suddenly didn’t make any more sense and had to be altered. A deeper understanding of the John character for example, has led me to the second phase of his master plan that OF COURSE would have always been the point with someone like him. If you want to know what I mean, look up a story called Prize which also deals with antagonist!John, and you might guess what I’m coming at here. This, unfortunately, interferes with plot threads already in motion. Things need to be pruned and shredded and burned.  
> If you think this sounds really end-gamey, like I’m about to orphan the fic and delete my account and retreat into the mountains to find myself, then you are absolutely, one hundred percent wrong. I’m just gonna go on hiatus for a few months. Just kidding. I am in fact going to create a sequel/spinoff dealing with characters that haven’t yet received much or any focus in this fic, set in the colonies, whose plot I’ll scavenge from those pruned bits, which will run concurrently with this story. I’ve already got a working title, Empire in Pink and Blue. Guess who’s starring (you’re probably half wrong). Jaspers will be in.


	11. You Couldn’t Just Resolve It, Could You?

The good Doctor, last of the Solomonari, known to some as Old Scratch, knelt to the ground in the dying light of the day, and dipped his finger in the ash.  He rubbed it between his fingers, examined it in various lights, sniffed it, and finally, tasted a little.  Hickory.  He was standing in the remains of the woodpile.

            The cabin in the woods had been destroyed by a fire about eight years ago, or so the villagers said, but the ash was still here, still fresh, after all this time.  After slaying the monster from the outer dark, he had traveled the countryside trying to uncover its spawning location.  The Colorless were often careless about their summonings, and there would likely still be some sort of rift to the outer dark wherever it had happened.  By all accounts, something like what he was looking for had happened here.  A witch, they said down in the village, snatching children.  They’d gotten fed up with her and torched the place, and with her dying breath she’d cursed them, and there had been dark things in the woods ever since. So they said.

            The prevailing attitude in the area was one of deep, deep sadness, still ringing in counterpoint to the music of the spheres.  Not rage or insanity as he had found at other such sites.  A crippling melancholy.  Scratch recalled another thing, half muttered by the locals.  The children hadn’t made it.

            He walked across the ashes, kicking up little puffs of black that did not in the slightest mar his pristine white robes.  He uncovered, quite by accident, a little scrap of dirty brown cloth.  On a whim, he stooped to pick it up.  It was frayed and prickly, in the way that soft things get when they aren’t tended to properly.  Some of the brown flaked off, revealing blue underneath.  There was the slightest stink of metal.

            Behind him came the sound of a woman crying.  It sounded as if she was miles away, but he turned and there she was, if only barely, more a gossamer curtain in the shape of a woman.  She must have been lovely in her lifetime, from what Scratch could make out of her face.  He got the impression that she might have been one of those women who simply stopped aging just before forty and stayed beautiful until they died, which was always tragically, dolorously soon.

            And where her heart should have been, there was a crack, as lividly black as she herself was transparent. 

            Ignoring him, she knelt on the ground just by his feet, looking at something that wasn’t there, holding her head and weeping, a mournful cry heard at great distance, before falling over with sudden violence.  She crumbled away to nothing.  Scratch waited several moments without moving, and she appeared again in the place he’d first seen her, making the same distant sound.  This time as she made her way over, Scratch gave her the fragment of cloth.

            Her icy cold fingertips penetrated into his hand as she took the cloth.  Ghosts can hold things, of course, if they try very hard.  It seemed as if that ancient bloodstained scrap weighed a thousand pounds from the way she held it.  “What happened?” Scratch asked.  “What made you this way?”  He had a pretty good idea, but he’d like to know.  ‘Tell me, and I can ease your pain; I’m a doctor.  You’ll at long last be able to move on.  Eternal peace.  Fields of glory.”  He considered a moment.  “Perhaps you’ll be able to see your child again?”  The apparition hesitated, as if Scratch were at a great distance and she had trouble understanding him, then nodded and reached up to touch the Doctor’s forehead.

 

            “Ampora, Makara, try to commune with it,” Strider shouted as he conjured his sword, forming up with Karkat’s group.  Nepeta nocked an arrow, but Strider said “Unless that thing’s made of silver, I’d recommend holding fire.”

            “What?  No Viscount nonsense?” asked Eridan, as he raised his rod toward the beast.  Technically, the thing was no help while working Violet magic, but just holding it helped him concentrate, and, though he would never admit it, made him feel like a proper wizard.  Gamzee just gave the monster an easy half-lidded grin, the same he always gave to people upon meeting them for the first time.  Tavros, still nestled on his shoulders, started praying again.

            Strider tsked. “One mustn’t overuse a theme.  Now get to.” 

            The werewolf stopped, sniffing the air, turning its head as if confused, looking between Eridan and Gamzee.  Eridan was concerned.  He’d communed with proper wolves before, but this thing was a completely different order of being.  In the physical world, it was the size of a grown man at the shoulder, its night black fur gleaming in the moonlight, green eyes like hideous lamps.  Out in the Violetessence however, the mental realm all complex life forms shared, the thing was truly massive.  In his mind’s eye, Eridan perceived a regal beast the size of a mountain so black that light could not escape its surface, with eyes like moons.  It felt more like it was communing with him, filling Eridan’s mind with itself, trying to make him submit—

            The second werewolf, as white and as silent as snow, cuffed him with its paw and sent him flying back into the trees.  “Nobody saw that coming—?” he mumbled before losing consciousness.

            Karkat immediately turned around and shot the newcomer in the face just as Strider shouted at him not to.  There was a sound like thunder, a flash of light, and a puff of foul-smelling black smoke that made Karkat’s eyes water.  The lead ball flew true and struck the creature right between its glowing emerald eyes, immediately exploding into fragments against its impervious skin.  Strider immediately hit the floor to duck the shrapnel, his sword creating a huge burst of steam.

            He needn’t have bothered; most of the fragments went wide.  That is, except for one piece that struck Nepeta in the face right under the eye, splitting her cheek open, spraying droplets of red across the snow.  Karkat dropped the gun and ran towards her.  “Oh fuck Nepeta I’m so sorry I should never have—”

            She turned and smiled at him eyes closed, a sight that made his heart jump into his throat considering that a quarter of her face was a mess of blood.  “This is nothing Karkitty.  Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this one,” she said, suddenly becoming fierce.  “You need to kill its mate though, or we’re screwed.”  Her huge eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness like some night predator’s.  She pulled out her massive knife, edge glinting with silver, and held it in a reverse grip, crouching low as she prepared herself.

            “Gamzee,” Karkat shouted, “We’ll hold it off, you get to the Beast—”

            “What Beast?”  Gamzee asked with casual indifference, and it was at this point Karkat realized that the light had faded.  The Questing Beast was gone, probably scared off by the gunfire.  “Shit!  Okay, fine, go and get Eridan and the others and get them the fuck back to the school!”

            Gamzee saluted and leapt over to Eridan, hefting him onto his shoulder, then setting off downhill.  “Don’t worry Tavros,” he said, “Even if we didn’t get our wish, we still had an adventure, right?”  The other boy was too petrified to say anything, but found himself thinking that ‘adventure’ was not what he’d call tonight.

            Strider picked himself up, leaving the sword where it had dropped.  He backed up towards Karkat and Nepeta until the three of them stood back to back, watching the huge animals circling them, ready to pounce.  He raised his hand, crackling with red lightning.  “C’mon Vantas, if we hit it with enough magic, it might decide we’re not worth the fight.  Then it’s mate’ll run off after it and we won’t have to ruin your friend’s pretty face anymore.”

            “it’s not his fault,” Nepeta snapped.

             “Where the fuck are the rest of you losers?” Karkat snapped, ignoring the barb.

            Without changing his tone of voice, Strider said, “Having a fucking tea party with a centaur and the Zahhak siblings, where the fuck do you think they are?  Just raise your fucking hand and do some fucking magic.”

            Karkat growled.  The werewolf also growled.  Karkat raised his hand, which failed to spark with any color of lightning.  “You know I can’t do magic unless I’m angry you great shit capitaldouche.”

            “What the fuck do you think I’m doing?  Also, you’re a sodomite.”

            A tiny arc of light passed between two of Karkat’s fingers.  “You’re so terrible at insulting me I think I actually feel calmer.”

            Strider smirked.  “Fondle your astrolabe if it’ll help.”

            “That piece of shit?  I can never do magic with it.”

            “I see you eyeing my sword there.  Gypsy trash,” said Strider, causing his sword to disintegrate, the fragments flying back to their usual place in his coat.       

            “Racial slurs?  Really?  Go defraud an Indian, imperialist pig-fucker.”

            “You’re right, I really can do better than that,” he said, adjusting his cracked spectacles.  A shard of glass fell out of the left lens, quickly followed by the rest of it.  “But seriously Vantas, why are you so terrible at protecting your friends?”

            “It’s not his fault!” shouted Nepeta, making the white werewolf bark.

            “No, he’s right,” Karkat snapped through grit teeth.  “I’ll make it up to you, Nepeta, I swear.  But,” Karkat smirked, “that’s pretty big talk for a guy who sets out with five other people and shows up alone pursued by a werewolf.  What, they get eaten?  Is the white one actually Porrim?”

            Strider sighed, and ran his hand through his hair.  He’d need to try a different tactic.  “Say, have you shagged your sister yet?”

            Karkat’s hand started to spark violently.  “What the fuck is your problem!?” said Nepeta.

            “Look, everyone can tell there’s something there. I know, you have this little infatuation with him—”

            She gasped, turning to look at him, face pale from more than blood loss.  “How—?”

            “You can see it from space, love.  Anyway, they’re so close, it’s adorable.  You honestly have no chance.  And she’s not even really his sister.  The two of them point it out every time you talk.  Pseudo-siblings and suchlike.  It wouldn’t be… _entirely_ untoward for him to—”

            Karkat’s entire body was now emitting a ruddy glow and an angry hum, melting the snow around him.  “No.  No, no, no no no no!  Just stop talking forever Strider, you have lost all rights and privileges to the use of language.  How are we even communicating now?  Why doesn’t Calliope’s Cherub just remove my comprehension of your hideous tongue from my brain so I can’t hear the excrement that is somehow both literally and figuratively dripping from your disgusting mouth?”

            Strider nodded for a few seconds.  “So Kanaya’s available is basically what you’re saying?”  A bolt of lightning as thick as a man’s waist exploded its way out of Karkat’s hand as he screamed ‘NEVER’, and struck the black werewolf in the chest. 

            The sudden burst of light startled its mate, making it lunge for Nepeta.  With the lithe grace of a cat she leapt onto its back neck and started stabbing it with the fang-shaped blade, hissing as she went, while the werewolf tried to shake her off, howling in pain.

            The black one stood up again, and this time Strider loosed a burst of magic.  The creature snarled, but then it noticed its companion, and Nepeta’s bloody knife.  It circled away from the boys, and then leapt for Nepeta, mouth gaping wide.  Karkat screamed, “Get out of the way!”  She leapt off just as it reached her.  Instead of almost certainly biting the girl in half, it only managed to bite down on her over-long coat and slam into its companion.  The force of the blow shook the air, and the two werewolves slid towards the edge, dragging Nepeta with them.

            Karkat and Strider raced forward, reaching Nepeta just as the werewolves went over.  Karkat grabbed her left hand and Strider her right, and Nepeta felt as if her arms would be torn out of their sockets with the weight of the black werewolf dragging her down, and why the hell didn’t her coat just rip—?

            The black werewolf noticed that its companion was not firmly attached to anything, and exploded into a puff of smoke.  The boys pulled Nepeta up easily.  “I…don’t think that was a werewolf….” muttered Strider, just as Karkat asked, “Are you alright?  Obviously you’re bleeding profusely and you just almost died and we probably dislocated both of your arms saving you, but—”

            She hugged him, muttering “my hero,” and kissed him gently on the lips.

            Strider said, “I saved you too,” averting his gaze.

            There was a loud crack and their orientation suddenly shifted.  “The earth moved!” said Nepeta gleefully as the ground shifted beneath them.

            “Yes, literally,” said Strider.  He sighed.  “This is so incredibly contrived it must be for the purpose of irony.”

            Karkat said nothing.  He was stunned.  The ground gave way beneath them, and they tumbled off into the void.

 

            Jack was pretty sure he was about to die.  The hammer blow had probably split his skull.  He knew he was bleeding all over the floor, his vision was blurring from the blow, head ringing like a bell.  The left eye, he knew, had pulped under the blow.  Even if he did live, he’d be half blind.  He wouldn’t though.  Jack suppressed the urge to vomit.  He wanted to look into the eyes of whoever it was that killed him, and have at least a little dignity while doing it.  He was looming over him, still just a kid, mallet in one hand, a big iron nail in the other.  Black hair, spectacles, blue eyes.  He looked a bit like the bounty hunter Jack had killed the other month.  Jack remembered every person he killed; what was the point otherwise?  “Hello,” the kid said.  “My name is John Egbert.  You killed my father.  Prepare to die.”  Ah, that explained it.

            Jack felt a bit of water falling on his face.  Was the brat crying on him?  Wouldn’t be the first time.  No, it was starting to rain.  Weathermage this strong, he’d blown half the house down just walking in.  “My dad told me about you,” he said.  Oh no, he was going to start monologuing!  “You’re a monster.  You’ve killed hundreds of people.  Travelers.  Settlers on the French side.  Burned them all alive.  You didn’t even _rob_ them.  What’s wrong with you?  Why would anyone do the things you’ve done?”

            Judging from that spike, this kid was Blue.  He had no illusions about where he’d gotten those weather powers.  Fucking hypocrite.  Jack wasn’t about to say or even _think_ that he was better than the kid, mind.  He hated it in books and stuff (he reads books, fucking sue him) where the villain tries to tell the hero that the hero is just as bad as he is because he cheats at cards or some bullshit.  Jack knew that he was a monster.  He accepted it.  When you kill your first man at the age of nine because he looked at you funny, and then you kill his wife because the bitch won’t stop crying and you spend the rest of your life committing a one man genocide campaign because you don’t like how a language sounds, you don’t have any right to say that some kid looking for revenge for his dad and probably some sweet bounty money too is as bad a person as you are because of what kind of magic he’s using to do it.  But Jack didn’t like hypocrisy.

            He would have said all of this, but he didn’t have the strength.  Besides, the kid had asked a question, and Jack would answer.  He made a rude gesture, and said, with his last breath, “the aristocrats,” before lighting himself on fire.  John pounded the spike into his head anyway.

            Jack woke up, still the king of France.  Why couldn’t the kid have put him in the king of Liechtenstein or somewhere?  It was probably an ironic punishment, he decided.

            He got up and dressed himself, thank you very much, in a very fine black suit embroidered with stylized fleur-de-lis that looked more like spades and a nice broad-brimmed hat like he’d worn on the frontier, but about six thousand times more expensive.  A heavy cane of shiny black wood topped with a horse’s head completed the look, and allowed him to beat people with some refinement should he desire. 

            His entourage was outside.  Just a few people that he’d decided were cool; the rest Droog had thrown out of the Versailles before Jack could light them up.  Shame.  There was his giant, what Droog referred to as a ‘hegemonic brute’.  Motherfucker was about seven foot nine, and he cheated at hearts. 

            There was also his dwarf.  Fools hadn’t been popular in court since King Charlie up in England went and got his head chopped off; they had to send for one from _Russia_ because they were the only country backwards enough to still have them.  It’s a damn shame, the guy was hilarious, even if he only knew a few words of English.  Or French.  He also had a slight aptitude for transformative magic; he could turn almost anything into a mild explosive.  “Je n'oublierai jamais la nuit, j'ai fait six rappeurs courent,” he sang, doing a weird little jig.  “J'ai couru pour la maison et six d'entre eux couraient derrière moi!” Bloody hilarious.

            And the man himself, lord Droog.  The king’s spymaster, a self serving, manipulative, conniving, ruthless, heartless man, known as the black specter hovering over the throne of France; he had ordered and personally overseen hundreds of executions, interrogations, and assassinations, perpetrating many of them himself, for men such as he are born unable to trust.  Probably one day, Droog would kill Jack in his sleep, forever this time.  Best friends forever.

            “The peasants are massing at the gates, Majesty,” said Droog, puffing his cigar as if he had just said ‘the newspaper is late’.  “Your recent actions have frightened everyone who is not currently walking with you.  They’re saying that you’re the devil himself.  Parliament is openly speaking about deposing you.”

            “Good,” said Jack, “I have shit to say.”  He shoved open the doors and went outside to face the angry screaming masses, and with a wave of his hand conjured a rolling stream of fire that encircled them, pinning them against the walls.  It wouldn’t do to have them run away.

            He strode up to the biggest fellow who was right up against the gates, reached through the bars, and slammed him into them by the lapels.  “FUCK YOU!  FUCK PARLIAMENT!  BUT MOST OF ALL FUCK THE ENGLISH!”  He let the big man go and raised his arms, causing the flames to burn brighter and steadier, like gaslights.  “I HAVE FUCKING DIVINE POWERS!  I’M GOING TO LEAD OUR PEOPLE TO VICTORY AGAINST THE ENGLISH, AND I’M GOING TO MAKE THIS COUNTRY SOMETHING WORTH A DAMN!”  He conjured himself a crown of fire and pushed himself up into the air with flames, burning blue with heat, from his hands and feet.  “NOW YOU ALL BETTER BEND THE FUCKING KNEE TO YOUR NEW GOD-KING, OR I’LL VISIT MY DIVINE WRATH UPON YOU!”

            Completely stunned, terrified, and confused, the crowd did the only sensible thing, and did as he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things I should have said last chapter. Eridan/Calliope: had to sink that ship before it left harbor. I hope my descriptions of the geography of the place weren’t too weird, I think that’s one of my weaknesses; fucking spatial depictions. Still getting used to AO3. Rich text lets me indent and use italics and colors (I’ll add them in here when the story’s done, I want each Color of magic to appear as itself when spoken of), but plain text doesn’t give me that weird space in between all my paragraphs. Le sigh.  
> We’re coming up on the end of this story arc, and the beginning of another one. I suppose there’ll be three major story arcs that take place at the school, and that’s how I’m measuring the length of this thing. After a brief time skip, everyone will be operating at the same rate, so things won’t be quite so confusing timewise. I want to remind everyone that everyone is human, silly of me I know, but I figured I should say that in case someone freaks out about her blood. Bah, y’all are smart. ….Did I just take a stand against Bloody Maryam? I don’t mind that ship, but you’d think we Homestucks would understand better than any other fandom that you can love someone without wanting to shag them. Also, CD is singing the midnight crew song in French, the bit where you make six rappers run. And if you get the aristocrats joke, good job (I’m already having your children what do you want from me).  
> Anyway, how’s that for a cliffhanger?


	12. Wait….Isn’t this a Schoolfic?  Let’s Have a Dance!

            The first snows of winter were falling on Vienna, stark white against the black city sky.  The dark night was bitterly cold, but the ballroom was warm. The gold adorned walls and the yellow marble floors reflected the soft light of a thousand candles, bathing the scene in a gentle golden glow as the dancers moved gracefully to the music of an unseen orchestra.  A young man, tall, strong and bespectacled, clothed in all the colors of the sky; every shade of blue of course, but also white and grey and silver and orange and purple and even hints of green, regards the young woman in his arms.  She’s in yellow for a change, the sun to his sky, though she is never without her red shoes, slightly, but not copmpletely, ruining the effect.  She’d have rather done something more productive with her time, like stir up a revolution amongst the common people.  Austria (or the Holy Roman Empire, or whatever the hell they felt like calling themselves this week) and France were at war, technically, and their good work in that country would be completely ruined should Emperor Charlie decide to invade.  “Blow down the gates John,” she’d said, “and I’ll put his head on a pike!”

            John had simply laughed and said that that wouldn’t happen.  Jack was too scary for anyone to invade France.  The Emperor was not a very strong man; he would succumb to external pressures and abdicate.  His daughter Maria Theresa would take over.  She was strong, she would shine in these troubled times.  "Besides Vriska,” he said, “we need to do more things that normal couples do.”

            She blew a raspberry.  “We’re not a _normal_ couple.  We’re the _best_ couple.  We don’t have time to waste on common couple things.  We pass our romantic evenings by starting violent uprisings and laying waste to our enemies.”  She punctuated her statement with a trite nod.

            John laughed, pulling her close with an elaborate sweeping motion.  “Bluh!  It’s always starting violent uprisings with you.  This country is basically gonna fix itself, we only even came to push it in the right direction.  And, of course, to dance!”

            Vriska rolled her eyes at him just as he took her good, living hand in his, pulled it over her head, and began to spin her around in circles like a top.  Unaccustomed to dancing, she quickly became dizzy, sliding on the slick marble floor and falling back against his chest.  Giggling, she asked “where the Hell did you learn to dance?” as she adjusted her spectacles, waiting for the ballroom to stop spinning.  It was empty; they’d procured it for their own needs while the city’s upper-class holed up in their homes, waiting.

            “My dad taught me,” he said, sounding distant and sad.  Vriska sighed; she shouldn’t have brought it up.  Still, it seemed as if everything that could ever possibly be of use or even interest to anyone had been mastered by the late, great Daniel Egbert.  It was hard not to bring him up.  She turned to face John and kissed him, partly to get him to shut up.  “I miss my mother,” she whispered, “but I don’t get all misty-eyed over it.  I just get even.” 

            He ran his hand through her flame-colored hair and kissed her forehead.  “You’re right.”

            “I’m always right!” she said, gripping his arm with her clockwork hand in order to it more of a painful squeeze.  “And what was with that chaste little peck just now?  Do I remind you of one of your precious sisters?  Is it the useless one or the whiny one?” she asked with a fierce grin.

            He laughed.  “My sisters are awesome and you are absolutely nothing like either of them.”

            “Oh yeah?” she said, pressing her body against his, her intensely blue eyes boring into his.  “Prove it to me John,” she whispered.  He blushed.  “Dear God, you are a grown man!” she laughed, pulling back.  “You shouldn’t be so intimidated!”

            “I want to wait until we’re married, do it properly,” he said, fighting desperately to control his flush.

            “Just like your old man taught you?” Vriska asked with an eye-roll.

            John coughed.  “Um, no.”

            There was an awkward pause as realization hit Vriska.  “Jesus John,” she said, leaning against him again, this time in a non-threatening way.  “We are so fucked up.  What are we gonna do with ourselves?”

            He held her close.  “We’ll do the best we can, and hope it’s enough.”

            Vriska snorted.  “That is so clichéd that they’re pressing it into steel plates in a nearby factory to be affixed to every church door in Europe.” Almost as an afterthought, she said, “I love you,” and buried her head in his chest.

 

            Well, thought Aranea, reeling suddenly against the guardrails of the canal, biting her lip.  _That_ was an entirely new sensation.  Ugh, the moment she stops chaperoning they immediately—best not to think about it.  Even though she can almost feel—no, don’t think about it.  There’s work to do.

            She wondered how Vriska had been able to corrupt him.  No, stop thinking about, your face is redder than should even be possible and people are starting to stare.  Aranea set off on a light trot that escalated into a full run.  She just needed to lose some proximity to her sister, then she’d be able to think clearly.

            It’s just as well.  The people in that part of town would not be conducive to tonight’s work.  And there _was_ work to be done, for all that John said this place would fix itself.  Well, he was partially right about the Emperor and his heir, but it was always difficult to determine how people would _react_ to external pressures.  And while they could force the issue as they had in Britain and France and Turkey and the Americas, Aranea had had an idea to simply shape the existing pressures rather than create them artificially.  She realized that she was muttering to herself, thinking out loud.  Honestly, sometimes she thought that she should set up a shop to sell her wonderful knowledge.  But John was the only one who seemed legitimately interested, and only because she so often relied on his power to implement her machinations.  The other magi think Blue is an artless Color, just brute force and thievery, but there _was_ an art to it.  So many complex measurements needed to be taken, materials to be experimented with, a working knowledge of anatomy was a must just to make a Transplant successful, let alone useful, and there was always room for improvement.  Even John had started out with stakes, but really all a mage of his caliber needed was metal dust.  And then there were non-metallic needles and their obscure uses.  She wished they’d had more time with Mierfa.  Apparently the use of metal in Blue magery was almost unknown in Asia save for some medicinal purposes, and the Bluemagi there used animal parts for their spells, which have a whole range of abilities other than simply Transplanting that Aranea had only just begun to weasel out of—

            Bugger, now she was surrounded by street toughs.  At least she’d made it to the bad part of town.  There were only four of them.  The one in the lead raised a knife, saying, “That’s a real fine dress.  You should give it to me.  Just take it off and no harm’ll come to ya, promise.”  The others all giggled.

            Aranea smiled.  “I’m very flattered, but I assure you that you want no part in this.  You really should just let me pass and then perhaps work at improving your lot in life rather than living as a parasite, adding to already the deplorable conditions of the working and lower classes both directly and indirectly by confirming the subconscious fears and prejudices of the upper classes, thereby making them feel justified in not spending money on urban development, as well in continuing to regard their social inferiors as subhuman.”

            Some of the thugs laughed tentatively.  The leader just sort of gazed stupidly, wondering if she had insulted him.  She hadn’t, but could also see how some might misconstrue what she had said as insulting.  Ah, the burdens of intelligence.  “Just take off your fucking clothes and let’s get this over with,” he said, deciding to ignore her appeal to his humanity.  Aranea sighed, and held up her left hand.  It was completely dead to all sensation since the incident in which Vriska lost her own hand due to the stigmatic bond.  Aranea could still move it perfectly well, but these were the risks of magical siblinghood.  It wasn’t all bad; no sensation meant no pain, so Aranea used it as her spell-casting hand.  There were seven needles embedded deep into her left palm, so deep they were healed over completely, leaving a pattern of scars that would eventually become their group’s sigil, each investing her with a different magical power from a different Color.  With one hand, she could heal, alter the weight of a target, magnetize, partially commune with animals, and kill a man three different ways.  Aranea settled on fire before conceiving an idea.  Her hand frosted over as she removed the heat from the surrounding air.  It was good to experiment, testing the limits of what a single transplant could do.  The street toughs watched in confusion, and then in terror.

           

            Several hours later, Aranea, none the worse for wear, found herself sitting in front of a cozy fire in some back-alley, speaking to children.  Either their parents didn’t seem to care whether they were out at such an ungodly hour, or they didn’t have any to begin with.  It was enough to break one’s heart.  She had done this for other groups of people throughout the night ever since her encounter with the thugs, though this was the only one composed entirely of children.  Aranea worked her social skills, assuming the role of the humble story-teller, easy enough to slip into, before working her magic.  The children were finally comfortable enough around her to start asking her questions.

            “I hear the king of France is the devil and the king of England is a crazy pirate.  They say the world’s gonna end soon,” said a brazen little boy with hair that was either very filthy or turning grey.

            “Don’t talk about scary things Sebastian!” said a dirty looking girl who might have been his sister.

            “Shut it Olivia!  We’re going to war with the devil and all the demons are gonna pop out of the ground and kill you, and I’m gonna slice them up with my sword to get revenge.”

            Olivia, close to tears, said “You don’t even have a sword!”

            “Is it true?” a sallow-skinned girl drooling at the mouth a little.  Casey.  She must have been sick recently.  One might assume from the drool that she was not particularly intelligent, but she had paid the closest attention and asked the best questions so far.

            “It’s a distinct possibility that the King of France might turn on Austria,” Aranea admitted.  “But he’s neither the devil, nor a demon, nor are there such beings on his side.  He simply has access to what seems to the lay-person a frightening weapon.”

            The other two looked at her as if she had just spoken in tongues, but Casey nodded, slowly.

            “So he’s just a regular bad guy?” asked Sebastian.  His proclivity for violence stemmed from an innate desire to be a hero, or so she had deduced.

            “I’m afraid I’ll have to answer your question with another question,” said Aranea.  “What is the difference between a hero and a villain?”

            “Heroes kill villains,” he answered immediately.

            “Villains do bad things?” said his sister.

            Casey shrugged.

            “Both of them are people with the power to change the world around them.  However a villain,” Aranea began, starting to get back into her niche, “is a person who thinks they can change everything.  A hero is someone who doesn’t think they should.”

            The children were confused.  “Think of it this way.  In the stories you’ve heard, even the ones I’ve told you, the villain does something wrong, and only then does a hero appear.  Heroes need opportunities to be heroes.  Sebastian,” she said, pointing at the boy.  “You just said that you would avenge your sister if she were killed, but would you hurt other people if they had done nothing wrong at all?”  Looking confused, he answered in the negative.  Aranea beamed.  “Exactly!  A hero reacts to villainy!  So naturally, someone is going to stand up to these villainous kings, yes?”  Realization dawning, the children all nodded in agreement.

            “Now, before we continue, I have something to show you all.”  The children leaned in, curious.  Aranea tapped into another Transplant, one with the ability to conjure, as well as another with the power to magnetize.  Instantly, the air was filled with the most brilliant butterflies the children had ever seen, their glittering silver bodies floating lazily under the power of their gorgeous Chartres blue wings, gleaming like stained glass.  They ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ as the wonderful creatures flew around them, laughing as they sprinkling sparkling blue pollen all over their clothes and hair. 

            Aranea had worked very hard on them, combining features from the most visually appealing butterflies and moths.  They had the long, feathery feelers and delicate tapering wings of a Luna moth, with the slim bodies of proper butterflies and the elegant patterns of a monarch, though each wing also bore the signature of one orb surrounded by six orbs. 

            Some small amount of physical material always made illusions seem more brilliant, hence her use of magnetism.  Just a pinch of cobalt dust in each one to bring out the blue.  And bonded to each individual grain of that dust was a fragment of an emotion.  It had taken her months to separate out an emotion, and it had pushed John’s power to the limits trying to create so many Implants.  Aranea had insisted that he take Vriska out for the night, as a reward.  Despite grumbling about having to dance, Vriska was always happy to have John to herself, and had thanked Aranea privately before latching onto John’s arm with an exaggerated groan.  And despite all the time spent on the project, it wasn’t as if this job were particularly difficult.  Just put on a little show and douse the people with belief. 

            “Let me tell you about a very wise and powerful man….” she said.  Another reason he wasn’t here; John was far too modest to let her say what needed to be said.  He was saving the world for the love of Christ!  Let the people love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright loves, I was gone for a bit. I took a few days off to outline the sequel/spinoff so it wouldn’t get away from me like this one did (which was fun), and then there was also copious amounts of homework (less fun). I realize that there shouldn’t be that big a gap between updates, but I was actually going to conclude the Beast story-arc, and the chapter after it was going to be a series of vignettes sort of like chapter four, during which everyone’s timelines would finally sync up. And I’m still going to do it, but see, this chapter was originally going to be one of the vignettes, which would have made it long as shit. I decided to pull this bit out and set it earlier to interrupt your flow, hehe, because the conclusion of a story arc is obviously going to take longer to write than a single evening/morning. In the next chapter we will conclude an arc, then the chapter afterwards will be filler and fluff.  
> Bah, character nationalities. Karkat and Kanaya are Roma (gypsies). They both have had little contact with their culture however, and I did this mainly to set them up as outsiders, and also to connect them with the folktale of the Scholomance from which I drew inspiration (but that’s next chapter’s notes).  
> Eridan is Scottish. The only real reason is because I always imagined Dualscar as sounding like Seam Connery, though I suppose I could make up some bullshit about how the Scottish culture straddles the line between Christianized medieval society and pagan society much as canon Eridan straddles the line between nobility and savagery. That sounds better, let’s go with that.  
> The Anglikas are Greek because Calliope is a Greek name, of course. I made Jake their brother because of the weird way he gets along with Caliborn, figuring he could act as a mediator, and also because he has Lord English’s name. Simple.  
> Beyond that, I mostly chose nationality based on what a name sounds like. Captor is already an English word so you can guess what Sollux is. Nepeta sounds vaguely Spanish; her backstory here is that she grew up in a border town and threw the “J” into her last name, originally just “Leon” to make it sound fancier when she crosses over. The Zahhaks are Austrian because they remind me of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Fritz Lang respectively. I’m sure I had a reason for Aradia to be British. John and Jade are American colonists, partly to make them outsiders and also partly in response to the idea in the media that America always fixes everything.  
> Feferi, who has yet to appear, will be Portuguese, as Peixes is Portuguese for fish (I always pronounced it Pisces, but apparently the correct way is ‘pay-shees’; for the sake of argument it will have the Portuguese pronunciation in this story). Funny; looking back on my original notes for the characters way back before I even decided to do the fic, the only thing I wrote for Feferi is her Color and “she will not do nothing and then die. Probably.”  
> The Serkets are redheads, because of course they are, c’mon. Unless otherwise stated, everyone has their canon hair colors. Damara has a lot of nice fanart with brown hair, so that’s canon too.  
> You know, I really like it when Aranea gets all flustered, because she's normally so composed and angelic, I find it both hilarious and adorable. And...I realized writing this that I'm legitimately emotionally attached to the John/Vriska ship. I'm actually sad they aren't together. Dafuq's my problem?  
> And yes, they did ;)  
> Oh hey, while I was on break this got over 666 views \m/


	13. The Plot Twist Chapter

            Cronus’s throat had been hurting ever since they left Scotland.  No, before, since the day Egbert and his ilk had left.  He remembered, the girl that had actually almost liked him, Aranea, had offered him a drink, as a sign of friendship.  He accepted because he thought it would lead to something else, but sadly ‘friendship’ was as far as he got.  At least whatever she gave him was delicious, some kind of spiced wine with berries, despite a slight metallic after-taste.  That was the first night, however, that his throat started hurting.  The smoke wasn’t helping.

            London was still burning.  It had been burning since two hundred and fifty members of the nobility were murdered on Prince Frederick’s wedding night.  The riots had only barely been quelled by the Amporas’ arrival.  A handful of ships and a brief bombardment of the city had heralded King Hieronymus I.

            Father was bold and had been crowned the moment he stepped off the boat, with the dockhouses smoldering all around and the rioters on the very next street.  He then took up the old Hopesbane and set out to pacify the rest of the city with his small contingent.  At the end of the day he took up residence at St. James’s Palace, the very place where the atrocity had been committed.  It still stank of blood.

            Now, he was king of England, though his power barely extended past London.  The noblemen out there thought that perhaps they were better suited to running the realm, as did a variety of admirals and generals.  Cronus muttered to himself that house Ampora had been better off on their little island viscounty than they’d ever been as royals.  That is, when the king wasn’t in earshot.

            Great deals of things about Cronus’s father were starting to bother him.  He’d noticed that the old man had always been hard on Eridan, but it had only just dawned on him how overtly cruel he’d been.  Mocking the boy for his stutter, and his poor eyesight, and his daft lovestruck personality (well, that was actually quite annoying), and his useless magic.  He drank to excess.  He spoke rudely to his subordinates.  He acted as if he had already won, with half the city burned down and people eating dogs in the streets, Eridan gone off to some God forsaken school, and the collective enmity of the British Empire against his rule.  And he had a terrible sense of humor.

            All these thoughts and more rolled around in his head as Cronus tossed and turned, coughing and wheezing his lungs out.  Father’s ire for Eridan had started shifting over to him ever since he started getting sick.  He’d been called a weakling more times than he could count, and that he should be going by Princess of Wales rather than Prince.  Cronus said he’d think about it if they lived to ever see Wales, and had gotten a good slap in the face for his trouble.

            Cronus pulled himself out of bed, a magnificent four-poster decked in black and purple.  He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.  He threw on a bathrobe and began stalking through the dim red palace.  It still stank of blood.  There was something heavy in his pocket.  He knew what it was, but couldn’t think of the name.

            He passed by Mituna, sitting in the window dressed in motley, legs dangling out over the three story drop, kicking rhythmically as if he were on a swing.  The king had decided to bring jesters back.  Mituna didn’t mind.  He was singing, badly off key but with a certain comedic rhythm that actually seemed to work with the song;

_“The shepherd swains shall dance and swing_

_For they delight each May morning:_

_If these delights thy mind may move,_

_Then live with me and be my love!”_

            Marlowe, Cronus thought.  Probably.  Whichever one did the English version of _Faust_.  He wondered why his lackey was out this late singing to himself.  He almost called to Mituna, but stopped himself at the last minute.  No need to startle the boy and send him plummeting to his doom.  For some reason, Cronus didn’t think he’d actually thought that.  He went on his way, thinking about what was in his pocket.  He could just take it out to look at it, but he felt that would be cheating for some reason.  It had to do with Queen Anne.

            He wandered, wraith-like, half-asleep, with that terrible sensation of wanting to cough and not being able to, somewhere between a pain and an itch, bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor.  The place reeked of blood.  Mituna had told him on the first day he couldn’t smell anything.  Father had assured him the palace had been thoroughly cleaned.  By whom?  The flies?  It stank!  Damn him and his empty gesture of dominance.  That’s all it was, ‘watch me sit on the corpses of my predecessors and drink out of their skulls’.  ‘Bow in terror before the king of half of London on his dread, smelly throne’.

            Cronus threw open the doors to his Father’s room.  The old man stirred, reaching for Hopesbane.  Barely aware that he was doing it, yet on some level quite glad he was, Cronus pulled out the sleek, elegant Queen Anne and shot his father in the chest.  He dropped the pistol, went back to bed, and slept peacefully the whole night long.

 

            David woke up in the very early morning, the sky just beginning to lighten overhead.  It must have been about three hours, he guessed.  A Red mage’s guesses were rarely wrong when it came to the time.  He remembered falling.  He’d grabbed hold of the other two, or he’d tried to, and augmented gravity.  This was probably why he was still alive.  A few feet away, lying face down in the snow, was the girl, the Spanish girl from the boat.  Hell, what was her name?

            He stood up shakily and went over to her.  She looked very pale.  It stood to reason, she was lying in the snow and bleeding profusely—

            Shit, she was bleeding profusely.  “Hey, girl,” he said, bending to shake her shoulder.  “Get up.  You need help.  You needed help a few hours ago actually.  Don’t be dead.  I’ll be traumatized for the rest of my days.”  She stirred weakly, and he sighed.  He was terrible at restorative magic, but she needed it.  He muttered a few lines of poetry, causing a line of silvery light to pass from him to her like a spark.  A very rudimentary healing spell, a mere battlefield patch, was all he could manage, but it was enough to bring the color back to her cheeks and make her sit bolt upright, screaming “OOOW!” flailing her arms about, hitting him in the face.  He winced as he grabbed hold of her.  She had sharp nails.

            “Calm down,” he said, “You’re very hurt right now, we need to get you back to the school—”

            She looked around frantically.  “Where’s Karkitty?”

            “Don’t worry about him right now.  You’ve lost a lot of blood—”

            “Piss off!” she shouted, shoving him into the snow drift.  She turned on her heel, took a confident step forward—

            And fell flat on her face.

            A few minutes later, she was sitting on a log while David worked on her face by the light of Blazing Hot Betty.  The cut had either not been as bad as he’d thought or he was better at healing magic than he’d thought.  Either way, his prognostication skills were garbage.  “Ow!” said Nepeta as he made another stitch, “You’re being rough on purpose!”

            “No, it’s just naturally painful to have needles and thread passing through your body,” he said, pulling a tad tighter than was necessary.

            “I can look into your soul and see you lying!  Ouch!”  She turned away, but he grabbed her by the chin and tilted her head back.  She growled.  “Why don’t you know any healing magic?  Is it too far beneath you?”

            “No, I’m just terrible at it.  And I actually did use some on you a little while ago.  But see, this way I get to touch your face in what would normally be a highly inappropriate manner for an extended period of time and you can do nothing about it.”

            “Why are you such an ass?!”

            David rolled his eyes.  “Yes, I am an ass.  The person who saved your life like three times without even knowing your name?  He is a total ass.  My assness is legendary to all who have beheld it.  Stitching up that poor girl’s face after she got shot at by the guy she likes?  That’s like a donkey playing at being a man.  Not just any donkey, a full grown Mammoth Jack.”  He paused.  “Those things are bigger than horses, in case you were wondering.”

            Nepeta muttered, “He did not shoot me in the face!” 

            “Why are you such a brat when you’re _not_ facing down vicious indestructible animals at least three times your size?  Also I still don’t know your name.”

            She squinted at him, wearing an exaggerated frown as he finished up, before finally saying “I’m Nepeta.”

            “Capital,” said David, hand reaching up to fix his spectacles by instinct, even though they were quite lost and certainly destroyed beyond recognition now.  “I’m going to look for Vantas now.  He’s probably out cold.”

            Nepeta jumped up off the log, immediately getting dizzy and nearly falling back.  David caught her, groaning.  “He isn’t going to be less unconscious or dead if you are too.  Just stay here and do kittenish things.”

            “No!  I’m coming!  Just get me a stick or something,” she said, looking around for one.  He sighed and did as she asked. 

            “Grab hold if you feel like you’re about to fall,” he said as they set off walking.

            “I won’t”, she said resolutely, “and don’t call out; those werewolves might have survived the fall.”  He nodded.

            After a while, she asked, tentatively, “Why are you so mean to Eridan?”

            He immediately replied.  “He’s an idiot.  He tried to pull rank on me, as if the blood in his veins were more important or useful than whatever I have in my spirit that makes me Red.  Dragging that small-folk nonsense into our—”

            Nepeta cleared her throat.  “David, what are small-folk?  I thought they were like dwarves or fairies or something, but no one ever calls them that.  I asked in class one time but everyone just laughed at me.”

            David sighed.  “Small-folk are people who can’t use magic.  I don’t know why we call them that specifically, but it kind of fits, I guess.  We have something they don’t, and it makes us…bigger.”

            Nepeta wrinkled her brow.  “My sister isn’t magical.”

            “Sorry.  For being too candid I mean.  I would sound asinine if I was sorry for her not being magical.”

            “Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes.  She thought of something.  “Would you have apologized if I wasn’t Green?”

            “Sure.  I don’t treat all the lower Colors badly.  Just Ampora.”

            She jabbed him in the arm.  “Liar!  You were mean to Tavros and he never did anything to offend you!”

            He wiggled his finger.  “I was mean to him for his association with Ampora, not any other reason.  I may not mingle with the lower colors, but I don’t go out of my way to harass them.”

            “You called Gamzee a degenerate!”

            “I don’t remember ever doing that.  But he _is_ a degenerate.  That’s just facts.”

            “And it was Karkat’s team, not Eridan’s!  They were associating with Karkat, not Eridan, and Karkat is just as Red as you are, except ten times stronger and a thousand times better!” she huffed, then stumbled in the thick snow and grabbed hold of David’s arm.  She glared at him and they continued on in silence for a while.

            Ten minutes later, they decided to take a rest and sat down on another fallen log, nearly identical to the first one.  David briefly wondered if they had circled back, but Nepeta laughed in his face and told him not to doubt her forestry.  “Hey,” she said, “how do you know how to stitch someone up like that?”

            David shrugged.  “My father had this obsessive need for us to be the best at everything and made us learn all manner of skills so that nobody would ever have an advantage over us.  Swordsmanship, free-running, foreign languages, medicine.  It was incredibly exhausting and tedious but now I’m basically perfect.”

             Nepeta made a frustrated sound.  “Are you always serious or always joking?”

            “Neither, I’m both,” he said, completely deadpan.  “The jokes I tell are true, and the truths I tell are jokes.  It’s infinite recursion, with each sentence looping back on itself, making a mockery of its own honesty.”

            Nepeta looked at him, huge green eyes wide with disbelief, penetrating deep with her scrutiny as only a Greenmage can.  “You _are_ an ass.  But you’re not a monster.  I suppose I don’t have to hate you.”

            “Capital.”

            A moment passed in silence.  Nepeta yawned.  “Hey, what did you mean by us?”

            “Oh, I have brothers.  The youngest is Hal, he’s very smart but he’s incredibly aware of it, makes him an arrogant git.” 

            Nepeta nodded.  “And the others?”

            David hesitated. He supposed it didn’t matter.  “There was an older one.  Dirk.  He died.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Nepeta.  David said nothing.  “My sister’s name is Meulin.  Like the sound a cat makes.”  David smirked a little.  “She’s much more feminine than I am,” Nepeta continued.  “She likes to bake and wear dresses.  She’s deaf.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            Nepeta waved her hand dismissively.  “She’s always been deaf, it’s okay.  We’ve always helped each other out.  I would hunt the food and she would cook it!”  He smiled.  She sighed.  “I learned to use a bow because gun-powder is expensive, but I learned to shoot to.  Last year though, it was really bad.  There was a drought and most of the animals went away.  I had to…do other things to provide for us.”  David raised an eyebrow.  Nepeta laughed.  “Not like that, silly!  I had to steal!  At first I stole from houses but I felt bad, so I started robbing rich people’s carriages.  I always told them to just give me half though, because nobody needs that much money.  I got really good at it too, but they caught me.”

            David nodded.  “And then?”

            Nepeta hugged him very suddenly, saying “You’re actually listening to me!” and let him go before he had time to react.  "Anyway, while I was tied up, I saw some cats, a little family of nine snow white cats.  I called to them as quietly as I could, and they came and bit through the ropes.  Nobody else could see them and they got scared, and that’s how I found out I was a mage.”  She yawned tiredly, and looked off at the now distant ridge.

            The sun had yet to rise, but the world was lightening.  Everything around was a uniform dull blue, with no shadows.  The nocturnal creatures had gone to sleep, but the diurnal ones had yet to wake.  The wind roared through the narrow pass, now miles away.  Though Nepeta had climbed through only a few hours ago, it felt like many years now.  Acting like a gargantuan flute, a familiar note is produced.  It is the sound destiny plays when she wants you to know something is coming that will alter your life forever.  She does this not out of kindness, but out of malice, for you can do nothing to stop it.  Feeling suddenly empty and miserably cold, as if understanding the dread portent of the wind’s passing, Nepeta says, “David, I think you were right,” before slumping over onto his shoulder, asleep from exhaustion.  He sighs, gently laying her down on the log before standing up, conjuring his sword, and plunging it in the ground.  She needed the warmth.

 

            Karkat woke with the dawn somewhere green, and the first thought in his head was that he had died.  He quickly dismissed the thought as asinine, because everything hurt, and he figured that sort of nonsense would be put a stop to after death.  He pushed himself up; the ground beneath was soft and mossy.  While there was a nip in the air, it shouldn’t have been as warm as it was, even if he had fallen off the mountain and into the lowlands below, which he knew he couldn’t have.  Karkat’s coat was missing.

            He started walking, choosing a direction at random, and quickly came to an edge in space.  On his side, it seemed like springtime, with green grass, deciduous trees in full bloom, and the sound of songbirds.  On the other, it was the cold high plateau of the Scholomance, with its many snow drifts and its severe pine-forest, and the high black ridge blocking the sunrise.  There was a boulder to his right, on the Scholomance side.  It looked to have been sliced cleanly in half where it touched the border.  Karkat decided not to—

            “Oh you’re up!”  Karkat screamed and fell across the border, fortunately suffering no damage other than a wounded pride.  He pulled himself up to his feet, determined to give whoever had startled him a piece of his mind.  “Don’t startle people like SWEET JESUS!”

            It took him a moment to recognize Jade Harley.  Her face was dirty and there were twigs and burrs tangled in the black mass of her hair, and she was missing her customary spectacles and pointy hat.  Also, she was wearing nothing but his coat.  It was nearly identical to Kanaya’s coat, though of a simpler cut, cheery red trimmed with grey.  With the way it flared out slightly at the waist, it would have almost served as a dress, thought Karkat, becoming redder than he thought humanly possible, if it hadn’t ended abruptly just above Jade’s knees.  They both realized at the same time that he was staring at her legs; Jade pulled the coat tighter and Karkat started smashing his head against a tree.

            “I’m sorry I took your coat—”

            _*SMASH*_

            “It was very cold when I awoke—”

            * _SMASH*_

“And I didn’t have any clothes—“

Karkat stopped smashing,turning to look at Jade as if seeing her for the first time.  He started blushing even harder than he had been and continued with renewed vigor. _*SMASH* *SMASH* *SMASH*_

Jade grumbled, then grabbed Karkat from behind and physically subdued him.  “Stop it,” she said, twisting his arms behind his back, “you’re scaring me.”

            “WHY WERE YOU NAKED IN THE FOREST?” he shouted.  She let him go, turning away bashfully as if she had only just remembered her predicament, and he fell onto the springy moss.

            “I…I wish I knew myself!” she shouted.

            “Bullshit!” Karkat accused, getting up and looking slightly away from her.  “You just don’t wake up in the middle of the woods with,” he choked a little, “ _no clothes on_!”

            Jade glared at him.  “Go away Karkat!” she shouted, storming off.

            “You can’t just tell people to go away and then leave!  It sends the wrong signals!” he said, following after her.

            She turned and pulled a stick free of her hair, throwing it with deadly accuracy, hitting Karkat right between the eyes.  “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of Master Vantas, but I am not going to stand for it!”

            “ _Accusing_!?” he sputtered, rubbing the spot between his eyes, already starting to bruise.  The girl had an arm.

            “Not one step closer!” Jade warned, pulling free another stick.

            “I’m not accusing you of anything!” he said, ignoring her and taking a step forward.  “If you wound up sleeping in the forest with no clothes on looking like you do, I can only assume the worst—”

            He was then shoved to the ground by her patron spirit for his trouble.  He’d appeared in a burst of black smoke, a huge black wolf as tall as a man at the shoulder, with eyes that burned with green light.  Even with its teeth at his throat, Karkat recognized it immediately.  The werewolf that wasn’t a werewolf.  “Becquerel! Get off him!”  Jade commanded, arms crossed.  Becquerel disappeared and reappeared at her side, now much smaller, though still larger than even a wolf.  She patted him on the head, and he wagged his tail happily.

            “Dog spirits are the best,” she said, smiling at her patron like a beloved pet, “you serve them the same way you’d serve a real dog.”  He barked in affirmation.  Jade sighed and looked at Karkat, wearing an expression on his face like he’d been hit with a sack of bricks.  Or surprise tackled by a huge werewolf-dog-spirit.  Jade cleared her throat.  “Okay, Karkat, it’s nice that you were worried about me, but the truth is,” she took a moment to steel herself—

            “You’re a werewolf and your patron was protecting you last night, by getting you out of the castle and letting you run around outside away from anything that might hurt you,” Karkat intoned, completely deadpan as he raised himself to his feet, brushing himself off.

            “How did you—”

            “We got into a fight last night while my friends were searching for the Questing Beast.  I shot you in the face, and Nepeta Leijon stabbed you a lot.  Sorry about that.”

            Jade laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it.  “So, how did you become a werewolf?” Karkat asked.  “I assume you got bitten.”

            Jade shook her head.  “That’s just superstition!” she laughed.  Suddenly becoming serious again, however, she said, “I…have a brother.” She swallowed hard before continuing.  “He’s not a very nice man.  A murderer and a Blue Wizard.  My grandfather was a powerful Violet mage, and he made me a belt from white wolf skin, to protect me.  Whenever my brother is near, I change.”

            Karkat nodded, putting the pieces together.  “So your brother is around here somewhere, and you wolfed out.  We should probably get back to the school and tell Redglare—”

            “That’s the strange thing,” Jade said.  “I told Redglare about everything on the first day.  If this ever happened, Becquerel was supposed to take me to her and she would put me somewhere safe.   But instead, here I am.”

            “Okay, so maybe he isn’t here, and something else made you change—”

            Jade released an exasperated sigh.  “It would take a hell of a Violet mage to be able to do that!  Probably what happened is he came close but didn’t actually know I was here.  A coincidence.”  She started walking deeper into the grove of trees that didn’t belong.  “C’mon!  Don’t you want to see what’s causing this?”

            The three walked in silence for several minutes, with an occasional growl from Becquerel if Karkat got too close.  At first they roughly followed the edge of the space, and determined that it was curving back on itself.  Then, they headed towards the center.

            They were greeted by the sound of water, and encountered a narrow stream, lined with pebbles.  Karkat stooped and drank with gusto, only realizing now how thirsty he was.  Jade joined him, as did Becquerel.  Finally sated after a minute or two, he looked up, and saw the faintest familiar green and white light, emanating from just behind a stand of trees.  “The Questing Beast,” he muttered, the words feeling alien on his tongue.  Had he really been looking for it all last night?  It seemed ages ago.  “No fucking way,” he said as a grin spread across his face.

            Jade raised her face up from the stream, splashing him.  “That stupid wish granting thing you and Strider were looking for?”

            “The very same.”

            “Hey, let’s go get it!” she said, standing up.

            “Okay.  Do you want to borrow my boots?”

            Jade laughed.  “What?  Why?  That is so weird.”

            “Shut up, I was being gentlemanly!”

            Jade blew a raspberry.  “I’m not some delicate lady that can’t stand to have her feet wet.”

            “There’s rocks and stuff at the bottom—”

            “Bugger off!” she said, laughing as she ran across the stream, with Becquerel padding off after, barking and circling around her legs in that annoying dog way, churning up the water into bright silver sprays.

            Karkat growled, racing after her.  “You can’t tell me to leave and go away yourself!”

            “Is it sending mixed signals?” she said, running backwards.  It was a wonder she didn’t trip over Becquerel.

            “Yes!” he said, stumbling as he got out of the stream.

            “Oh no! How terrible for you!  You must be so confused!”  She laughed at him as he struggled to keep up.  Not from a lack of speed or physical fitness, but because his boots had filled up with water and pebbles.

            “I am!  It’s awful!  And now you’ve gotten my coat all wet!”  He’d almost caught up to her, but then Becquerel started running around _him_ , and Karkat did trip and fall flat on his face.

            Jade disappeared into the stand of trees, and Karkat realized that she wasn’t in on the pact he’d made with all his friends.  “Jade!  Wait!” he called, desperation rising in his voice as he pulled himself up, Becquerel continuing to make himself a nuisance.  Karkat only just managed to stumble into the trees when saw her talking to the Beast.

            It was an enormous creature, not quite as big as an elephant, and it was stranger and more wondrous than Terezi had described.  It seemed as if someone had cut a deer-shaped hole in the fabric of reality, making the absolute whiteness underneath visible. It was not glowing, he saw, but shone through.  There were no lines anywhere on its body, no shadows or anything at all, not even its face registered as more than vague impressions; it was so uniformly white that it almost looked flat against the backdrop of reality.  Only its antlers seemed at all definite, if they could be called antlers.  Constantly shifting, crackling with green and yellow sparks, they seemed more a crown of lightning than anything natural.  It took a step towards Jade, kicking a stone as it did so.  The stone flashed green and yellow, and half of it disappeared.

            Jade patted it on the nose, emitting a tiny crackling noise, and gave it an apple that Karkat had been saving in his pocket, which likewise sparked green and disappeared inside its formless mouth.   Jade’s hair was starting to stand up.  “Questing Beast, I ask that you keep this school safe from my brother and his minions for all of time.”

            And then it exploded.

            No, thinking back on it later, it was more like the Beast’s antlers suddenly became so massive that they encompassed everything, everywhere, all at once, in a violent storm of green and yellow, while at the same time its body became a window to the Scholomance grounds, that also quickly expanded until everything resumed its rightful place.  The pair were now standing in a snowdrift within sight of the Scholomance, a ways away from the woods, with no sign of the springy grove.

            “Oh God you killed it!”  Karkat shouted, rushing towards Jade.

            “I’m sorry!  I didn’t think—”

            “Goddammit,” he said, grabbing her shoulders, “We were supposed to wish for Tavros to walk again!”

            “I don’t even know who that is—”

            “I don’t care I—” Becquerel growled, suddenly becoming much larger, and Karkat took a moment to calm himself.  After several minutes of glaring at each other, Karkat noticed that she was barefoot in the snow, and offered his boots again.  She laughed, tension now broken and—

            A bolt of red lightning streaked through the sky, striking Becquerel through the chest, leaving a gaping hole that leaked black smoke as if it were blood.  Jade screamed, an awful primal sound to break one’s heart as she bent over her patron spirit, begging him not to die, before falling over herself, as if in intense pain.  “Karkat,” she gasped, “run!  I’m going to change again!”  Karkat ran.

            But he did not run away.  Instead he picked up Jade, slung her over his shoulder, and ran toward the school.  He didn’t even care that he was touching her legs, mostly because she was becoming feral, slapping and clawing at his back.  She even bit him in the back of the neck hard enough to draw blood, demanding that he drop her and save himself.  He ignored her.

            A black figure descended from the sky on dark wings, and Karkat almost did drop Jade in shock, because it looked just like Eridan.  An older, more ravaged Eridan, covered in nicks and scars here and there, with bits of metal poking out of him in terribly painful looking angles, but he recognized his friend’s face.  “What—?”

            Eridan pulled out a broken sword and stabbed Karkat in the chest.  Jade lunged at him, now half transformed.  He made a single gesture and she fell to the ground in heap, as if she were dead.  He flew off with her prone form as Karkat bled out on the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ….I told you it would impact the story *troll face*.  
> To commemorate the ending of the first story arc and the beginning of the second, The Rescue Jade arc, I’ve changed the format of the chapter titles, not that you care.  
> Once again, I’ve incorporated elements of Homestuck into this invented world by making the Questing Beast into a First Guardian, if you couldn’t tell from the description. I’m not shipping Dave and Nepeta, calm down, they’re just going to be friends. Unless….you want to ship them, in which case do it as Moirails, I swear to Gog, this fandom gives you three brand new kinds of romance and some people just want to see kisses. What happened to all those other freaks? Where are they? Did anyone else see the weird Guardian shit? All these answers will be revealed in the next chapter, probably.  
> Of course Karkat is acting like a prude, this is the 18th century and he’s had very little contact with girls. I suppose their positions are really reversed here, eh? With Karkat being the socially ignorant one who grew up in isolation and Jade being the one with the dark secrets and doesn’t like to show off her color. That was intentional, completely and totally. I’m not dissembling at all here. Yup. *awkward silence*  
> Oh, I don’t think I ever mentioned it, which is a massive failure on my part. The character’s ages. Everyone is roughly 14. Jake is almost 13, and was accepted into school early for being a goddamn savant (we’ll get more Jake later, don’t worry). Kanaya is actually fifteen, but no one is exactly sure of her age due to her parent’s deaths. Our boys and girls in Blue are around 17-18, Dirk is the oldest of the ‘kids’ at twenty. And there are fewer than a hundred students at school; the room numbers were decided by Andrew Hussie nailing random things to doors while giggling. I promised a while back that I would explain what a Solomonar was, and I’ll do that next chapter.


	14. The Filler I Mean Character Development Chapter

**Week I**

            People thought that Red and Green magic were contradictory, nay, incompatible powers, because they were opposite.  They were wrong.  There was a reason that colors that can’t mix are called _complimentary_ rather than contrary, after all.  The powers of Red and Green were perfect foils.  One mental, active, dominant, exerting effort on the physical world, the other spiritual, kinetic, passive, submitting to wills beyond the world.  The flaws of each were meant to be filled by the strengths of the other.  The spiritual world and the physical affected one another constantly, like the Earth and the moon.

            Redglare always woke with the dawn.  She liked to look out over the Scholomance, her domain, now, in the quiet of the day before anyone else rose.  It made her feel like she was the only person in the world.  She liked it that way; people were a nuisance and there were too damn many of them.  The gargantuan explosion of green light served as proof.  It was just another example of people, children most likely, tampering with what they oughtn’t to have tampered with.  They probably didn’t even know that what they’d done had profoundly altered the way the universe worked, and the flash of light was merely the byproduct of incredibly complex spiritual forces interacting with the mechanics of the physical world in ways that even she couldn’t comprehend. 

            Redglare uttered a brief prayer and belted her rapier, then jumped out the window of her office.  She augmented the gravitational pull on her body until she swooped upward and away from the castle in a gentle curve, producing a golden bell as she did, and rang it.  The strong, clear sound resonated across the plateau, across the veil separating the physical from the spiritual, penetrating to the very depths of the spiritual realm, and awoke her patron from his slumber.  He appeared from the nothing, not suddenly but rather inexorably.  Like when a whale breaches and for a moment a hill of water rises out of the sea, displaced by its mighty passing, so too did the boundaries of the physical world stretch and distort for an instant, before bursting asunder to reveal his splendid form.  Pyralsprite, the white Ismeju, lord of Dragons.  Four stories in length, scales so pure a white that the light shatters off them as rainbows, four arms, each holding a magnificent silver weapon.  Like all Ismeju, he lives with his eyes shut, as his gaze rather than his breath is a weapon.  She landed on his head, and they flew off, towards where the disturbance had originated.

            Just as she suspected; a gaggle of students, plus the brothers Zahhak (whom she had not expected), were already gathered around it, no, near it; something else held their attention.  The distortion in reality was difficult to tear her eyes from, but Redglare did not blame the students for not noticing it.  Only one other person in the castle had a spirit sense as well developed as Redglare, and the poor girl was entirely dependent on it, unable to properly interpret information from her real eyes anymore.

            Pyralsprite alit just in front of the children, awestruck by his beauteous aura, while the Zahhaks saluted.  The Ismeju inclined his head slightly, and Redglare leapt off, floating gently to the ground.  She recognized them all, having taken the time to memorize their names and faces as few of the other staff members had done; perhaps the Governor was right and they should take a more hands-on approach to education.  Makara, Nitram, Leijon, Strider and his gang, all three Anglikas, and kneeling on the ground in a pool of blood was Maryam, cradling her adopted brother’s head in her hands, softly weeping.  He was breathing, fortunately; appropriate measures had been taken to ensure his survival.  More would be needed soon.

            She turned her gaze on the brothers, enough to make even these giants among men quiver, although the ever-present smile on Horuss’s face did not waver.  “What happened,” she demanded, voice as hard as iron.

 

            Karkat spent the next week bedridden in the infirmary, drifting in and out of consciousness.  Mostly he stayed on the cusp of either, being partially aware of his surroundings, but only partially.  Sometimes he could hear people’s voices; angry, confused, frightened, strict.  They annoyed him.  That and the terrible ache in his body like he’d been torn in half made him actively seek out sleep during his brief waking moments.  He could glean things, sometimes.  It was no ordinary sword wound, so they said, but a thing of Blue magic.  A broken needle, whatever that meant.  Sometimes there were small, cool hands brushing his face, wiping off sweat.  Sometimes he could swear he saw people.  Eridan, and he wanted to strangle him for some reason.  Tavros, and he wanted to apologize.  Nepeta, and he wanted to apologize for a different reason.  Calliope, and he wondered how she’d survived being thrown off a mountain.  Or was it he that had fallen off a mountain?

            Mostly he dreamed.  He dreamed about crows and magpies, wolves, and very intelligent shades of Blue.  The massive whiteness of the beast loomed large over everything, its crown of horns cracking the sky.  He dreamed about girls, as boys often do.  Nepeta, kissing him.  It had been his first kiss and it was over so suddenly he hadn’t been able to enjoy it.  He wondered what she would say if he ever woke up.  Had it just been the thrill of adrenaline that made her do it?  Most likely.  He hadn’t done anything to _earn_ her affection. 

            Once his mind embellished things a little.  It was as if he were two people, one standing a ways apart, watching the other one hold her in his arms, in silhouette against the moon, big and round as it hadn’t been that night, with no Strider there to snark about things, and no blood or terror to be found, while at the same time he was the one doing it, feeling her soft hair, her softer lips.  But even as he kissed her, she changed.  The black hair grew longer and longer until it spilled over his hands and nearly touched the snow, the skin lightening to a deathly pale.  She grew taller so they were standing eye to eye rather than him looking down at her.  His other self could see her eyes opening, becoming slightly smaller and several shades brighter.  Nepeta’s boy coat became red and grey, and he noticed her legs were now bare.  Karkat realized with a jolt that she’d turned into Jade, but he thought he could enjoy his private thoughts.  No one need ever know.  It was just a dream. 

            It happened again, twice.  The third time however, was considerably different, because she didn’t stop changing.  The iris of her left eye grew until it displaced the white entirely, like an animal’s eye.  Her ears grew long and pointed, and sprouted soft white fur, as did her arms and legs, becoming longer and more muscular.  She furrowed her brow at him, angry, and bit down on his lips hard enough to draw blood, growling a growl that came from deep inside her body.  “Wake UP!”

 

            He did.  He woke up thrashing violently, covered in his own blood from biting down on his lip, being restrained by a surprisingly strong Jakob.  “Get off of me!  Right now!” he bellowed.  Or, he tried to bellow, but his voice was so weak from disuse that all he could manage was a weak mumble.  All the same, his friend heard him, and let him go, turning towards the door and shouting “He awakens!”  Kanaya had been sitting by the door to the cramped, unfamiliar room, sleeping, but her eyes snapped open immediately.   She practically leapt over to Karkat’s bed, giving him a crushing hug that drove the breath out of him yet somehow managed to avoid the awful stab wound in his chest.

            The others came in through the doorway soon after, restrained only by the fact that that door allowed only one person in at a time.  The first one in was Nepeta, who greeted him with a much less gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek.  He’d have to talk to her about that, he thought.  As to the rest, Karkat was frankly stunned at the relief and joy on their faces.  For the love of God, Tavros was crying, as if Karkat hadn’t proven to Tavros that he is a colossal failure!  Maybe Calliope was just glad that he’d given her some good material, but the others?  There was no way that they should be this happy to see him; some of them he’d only met the day of the trip.  Yet Calliope’s and Gamzee’s and Tavros’s smiles were just as wide as Kanaya’s and—

            Eridan.  Karkat surged out of bed, grabbing Eridan by the throat.  “You absolute pile of dogshit I thought we were friends I thought you loved her—”

            Once again Karkat was restrained by Jakob, joined by Gamzee this time, and forced back into his bed.  Having his friends sit on his limbs while shouting for him to calm down as if he were deaf as well as hurt gave him a moment to breathe and examine the situation, seeing the expression on Eridan’s face.  Confused, hurt, worried.  Karkat had been out for who knew how long, he thought, and his thoughts were in disarray. Sure, the guy who attacked him may have looked like Eridan, but there was no way it actually _could_ have been—right?  “I’m sorry,” he muttered.  “The guy who did it looked just like you.  I…guess I got confused.”

            Visibly relieved, Eridan said, “it’s alright Kar.  You’ve been out for a week; of course you’ve been confused.”

            Calliope had another little book out.  “Can you describe your assailant?  I’m sure Redglare would be very interested in hearing it.”

            “Karkat just woke up Calliope,” Kanaya admonished while she cleaned the blood off his face with a wet towel.  “He shouldn’t overexert himself.”

            “This isn’t exertion, I just need to say what a guy looked like, that doesn’t take any amount of energy,” Karkat snapped, strength returning to his voice.  “He looked like Eridan but older, with wings and with all this metal stuff poking out of him.”

            “Bugger, that last bit sounds like a Blue wizard,” Eridan muttered.  Calliope scribbled furiously.

            Karkat nodded.  “Jade said her brother was close by last night.  Er, last week, I guess.”

            “Who?” Eridan asked.

            Calliope flipped through her book.  “Jade Harley.  A colonial girl.  Tall, green eyes, black hair, glasses.  She went missing last week.  You developed a crush on her a few weeks ago, and have apparently forgotten about it already.  It’s all here in my list of minor characters—I mean acquaintances,” she laughed trying to play her Freudian slip as a joke.  She looked at Karkat.  “But what does she have to do with anything?”

            He sighed.  “Okay, but she told me this in confidence, so don’t tell anybody, or I’ll gut you,” he said.  He told them everything that had happened after falling over the cliff, excluding a few unnecessary details.  “Tavros, I’m sorry.  But in my defense, it was all Jade’s fault.”

            Tavros coughed, looking embarrassed.  The kid needed some backbone, Karkat thought, then immediately reprimanded himself because that was in awful taste.  “Um, I don’t mind, very much that is.  If, um, Jade’s brother is really all that bad, then, I guess, I’m glad that the wish was used for something, um, more useful than, well, me.”

            In poor taste or not, Karkat decided to tell Tavros that he needed to develop a backbone.  “Fuck that.  Get angry.  Assert your fucking importance.  Punch me in the hole in my chest and tell me that I should fuck myself for breaking my promise, and that you fucking matter in the grand scheme of things, because if you don’t think so then why the fuck should anyone _else_ think so?  Grow a fucking spine!”  Everybody looked at Karkat in stunned silence (except for Calliope, who was quietly transcribing his speech, mouthing the word ‘fucking’).  He’d finally done it, he realized.  He’d finally shown them all what a bastard he actually was.  It’s for the best, he thought, all of this faith they were putting in him was sickening.  He wasn’t worth it; he couldn’t do anything without it backfiring in his face—

            “I guess,” Tavros said, voice barely above a whisper, “I needed that.  Thank you, Karkat, I’ll try to be more independent.”  Karkat’s mouth dropped open.  He briefly wondered whether he was still asleep or simply just such a phenominal lackwit that he had actually failed at being a bastard.  Dammit, here comes the group hug, again—

            Calliope dropped her book and screamed.  Karkat looked down and saw that he was bleeding profusely from his chest, gushing fresh, black, arterial blood.  He wanted to say something clever and long winded about his pathetic state of being, about how he was certainly the subject of some cosmic Punch and Judy show, except that he was Judy and the entire universe was Punch, and it never ever stopped.  Instead, he did two things. He said, “Shit,” and then he blacked out.

 

            “STRIDER!  THIS IS IT!  OUR ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN OF ULTIMATE DESTINY.  TRULY, YOU AND I WERE FATED TO DO BATTLE UPON THIS DAY, TWO COSMIC RED MAGI OF TITAN STRENGTH, CLASHING AT LONG LAST IN SUDDEN BUT INEVITABLE WAR!  TRULY, THE BARDS WILL SING OF THIS DAY FOR CENTURIES TO COME!  THE ENGLISH WILL WRITE LONG BORING ESSAYS ABOUT THE TRUE MEANING OF THE MONOSYLLABIC ONE-LINERS WE UTTER!  THE FRENCH WILL GAY IT UP BY MAKING IT INTO A BALLET!  FUCKING, _THE ASSASSINATION OF DAVID STRIDER BY THE BADASS CALIBORN!  LAKE_ , OR SOME SHIT.”  His mad cackling echoed across the south courtyard while Broderick and Jeffrey tried to look intimidating behind him.  They failed.

            David made as if to produce Blazing Hot Betty, but decided not to.  The gang was down to just the four members, and he didn’t feel like leading such a tiny band.  Besides, there were better people to waste his time on.  “Nah,” he said, not deigning to even finish saying ‘no’.  It might catch on.

            Caliborn looked shocked.  “BUT…THIS IS OUR DESTINED BATTLE!  IT IS WRITTEN!”

            “Yeah David, are you a fookin’ poof or what ya tosser?” asked Broderick after moving a safe distance behind Caliborn.

            “C’mon David, don’t be a fuckin’ tosser-poof!” said Jeffrey, moving a safe difference behind Broderick.

            David shrugged.  “I’m tired of you losers anyway.  I was only in the gang for the girls, and now they’ve left there’s no reason for me to associate with you.”  He turned to walk away.  “Good luck with being completely terrible, Caliborn.  Don’t worry, you’ll nail your sister someday.”

            Caliborn sputtered.  “FUCK YOU STRIDER!  I HATE MY FUCKING SISTER!”

            “Oh, do I remind you of her?  Is that why you were able to raise your voice to such obnoxious levels?  Is that why you joined the gang?  I mean after figuring out the filth you have floating in your brain, I’m sure anything would be a suitable alternative to what you really crave—”

            Caliborn roared, an awful primitive sound that shouldn’t have been able to escape human lungs, and David knew he was right about the boy being more animal than person.  He felt a surge of magical energy building up behind him as Caliborn prepared a cannon-ball.  There was the hot whooshing sound as it hurled across the courtyard—

            And without turning, he conjured Blazing Hot Betty behind himself and sliced the thing in half, never breaking his stride or acknowledging the attack.  The sword disintegrated and returned to his coat as the two halves thudded to the ground on either side of him, cooling slowly.

            “Um, David,” Caliborn said, losing most of his bravado.  “I think we got off on the wrong foot.  How’s about we run the gang together—as equals?”

            Dave finally did turn to acknowledge Caliborn.  “I have no equal.”

 

            Nepeta sat at her usual place, whenever she wasn’t with the philosophy club or Karkat’s friends.  A stone bench in the north courtyard, right next to a statue of a Chinese lion carved from Green stone.  She’d discovered it while serving out her punishment for ditching; the north courtyard had been quite dirty and overgrown until she’d gotten through with it, revealing a wild, dignified beauty under the filth. 

            The Pounces lounged all around her.  One on her lap, one on her head, another gazing up at the great green lion as if beholding the face of God.  “Silly kitten,” she muttered, “A real lion’s even bigger.  I bet they don’t even have real ones in China.  That’s why they couldn’t get it right.”  She unconsciously scratched at her stitches.

            “That’s true,” said David, plopping down next to her as if he owned the bench, “but they have tigers and those are even bigger, so who knows what’s what.  And don’t scratch them, or they’ll never heal.”

            “Oh, hi David,” she said, making some room.

            “So enthused to see me, I don’t think I can handle it.”

            She laughed a little, but her heart wasn’t in it.  “I’m sorry David, I’m just very sad right now.”

            He made a noise indicating she could continue.  “Karkat woke up last night!” she said, regaining a bit of her usual tone.  “He started bleeding and passed out again though.  I went to visit him first thing in the morning and….” She trailed off.

            “He rejected you,” David finished.  She sighed and nodded.

            “I guess I’m not completely surprised,” she went on.  “I’m just some weird girl who dresses like a boy who just happens to like the same kind of books as he does.  And now I’m going to have this ugly scar too.  He could have any girl in the school—”

            “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Vantas?  Maybe you mean Karkat Mallory from Ireland, he’s pretty popular with the ladies.”  Nepeta giggled.  “And your scar should look quite fetching, if you stop scratching it.”

            “Maybe you’re right, maybe he’s nothing special,” she said, putting on a smile.  It disappeared.  “Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll believe it,” she muttered, choking back a sob. 

            David sighed and put his hand on her shoulder.  She didn’t look at him.  “You really are all just talk, you know that?  Besides, what’s heartbreak compared to my monumental victory?”

            “What?” she said, voice cracking, still avoiding his gaze.

            “I’ve just come back from glorious battle, pet,” he explained in a tone that said he didn’t care at all.  “Caliborn challenged me for control of the gang and I defeated him in one blow.  Then I let him have it anyway to prove my magnanimity.”

            Nepeta giggled.  “Why didn’t Equius step in like he always does?”

            “The mountain that sweats?  I haven’t the foggiest.”

            Nepeta laughed outright this time.  “That’s our new name for Equius!”  She cocked her head.  “Tell me more?”

            “It all started when he left several poorly written letters on my bed. I’ll never know how he got in.  ‘BRO,’ they said, ‘THE COURTYARD.  NOW.’  And they were written in this strange brownish reddish ink that smelled vaguely like frogs.  I realized the brute had actually written them in blood like some sort of penny-dreadful villain—”

 

            It was stressful day for Karkat.  Having to deal with his idiot friends, breaking Nepeta’s heart, and then getting drilled by Redglare later, all while still bedridden and apparently cursed as well, had done him no good.  Redglare had put the staff on high alert after hearing from Calliope’s secondhand report, but she’d apparently been waiting for him to wake up again and interview him directly.  He’d almost screamed, waking up to see her looming over him, with her intensely red eyes drilling into his soul.  She updated him as to the status of the Scholomance.  Apparently she’d also dispatched the Helmsman and the Monk to England for some reason.  “The world is trying to fall apart Master Vantas,” she said, “I intend to keep it in order.”  She did not offer any more information.

            “Where’s Kanaya?”

            “I sent her away; she’s missed enough classes.  Now describe your assailant again.”

            “I just told you—”

            “Mind your tone,” she warned.  Karkat sighed and did as he was told.  The woman was frightening.

            She considered for a moment.  “It wasn’t her brother,” she decided.  “Perhaps an accomplice?  Wait, what was the exact nature of Harley’s wish?”

            Karkat shook his head.  “I don’t think it counted.  The Beast just sort of…exploded afterwards—”

            Redglare waved her hand dismissively.  “Her wish was granted alright.  I could feel it being granted, and still can.  Such things leave traces.  I haven’t been able to sleep all week.  But I need to know exactly what she said, the exact wording, or as close as you can manage.”

            Karkat thought hard for a minute or two.  “’Protect the school from my brother and his minions for all of time’, more or less.”

            “Are you absolutely certain?”

            “YES!”  She rapped him on the head with the sheath of her rapier. 

            “It would seem that there are two Blue magi on the loose then,” she said, as calmly as if she were describing the weather.  “The one who attacked you is likely a rival to John Egbert, and staged the kidnapping to gain leverage against him.”

            Karkat was confused.  “Wait, who’s John Egbert?”

            “Jade Harley’s brother of course.  She’s illegitimate,” Redglare examined him closely, and Karkat felt his skin crawling under those awful red eyes.  “I gathered that the two of you were friends, since you knew about her brother and her…condition.”

            Karkat shook his head, trying hard not to look at Redglare.  “We’ve spoken twice.”

            “You called her name in your sleep.”

            Karkat bit his tongue in embarrassment.  “She’s pretty?” he answered lamely.

            Redglare shook her head.  “Pretty girls are a curse Vantas.”  She sighed as she walked towards the door.  “We will be looking for her, of course, but the security of the Scholomance takes top priority.  I am sorry.”

 

**Week II**

            The next week was pure pain.  Karkat’s wound had closed, but it refused to properly heal.  It felt like an infection, but Mistress Paint, the castle doctor (of White magic as well as medicine), assured him that the wound was as it should be, considering.  The pain was from the trauma to his soul, and for that the only cure was time.  It was a struggle to descend the stairs and a bloody war to climb them.  The awful nagging ache seemed to leech his energy aside from just hurting.  He spent every night in the infirmary, getting his bandages changed by Paint, who treated him like a baby.  Well, he supposed it was preferable to spending the nights with Eridan.  While he knew that his friend couldn’t have possibly been the attacker, the resemblance was entirely too uncanny.  Not just the man’s face but his posture, his movements, everything was nearly, no, completely identical to Eridan.  He had even _sneered_ like Eridan.  To be honest, he was avoiding his friend.

            Nepeta however, avoided him, which was fine, and less than he deserved in his own opinion, after the way he’d treated her.  In contrast, Kanaya practically smothered Karkat.  On the one hand, he was glad not have damaged at least one relationship with someone he actually cared about.  On the other hand, Goddammit he needed to breathe sometimes! 

            On yet a third hand, he out of everyone who had gone out that night was the only one not undergoing a fearsome and public punishment.  Over a _tenth_ of the student body had broken curfew!  He never realized how few people were actually attending the Scholomance, so such a gross breach of protocol needed to be made an example of.  While Redglare could have simply confiscated their totem objects and forbidden them from doing magic outside of classes, she had decided instead to make both Strider’s gang and Karkat’s serve as the castle’s cleaning crew, a very public demonstration of her authority.  As a result, the bulk of Kanaya’s time was wasted either on Karkat himself or on mopping the endless floors of the Scholomance, or else polishing its myriad gilt, washing its thousand windows, cleaning its labyrinthine masonry, and of course painting over that sodding retarded graffiti.

            “But it was all my fault,” Karkat argued as he burst into Redglare’s study.  “I agreed to Strider’s stupid deal and convinced all of these losers to—”

            Redglare rapped him on the head with the sheath of her rapier.  “Call me dangerously progressive, but I believe a cursed sword-wound and having your sweetheart kidnapped is punishment enough.”

            “Like Hell it is!” he screamed.  “I put everyone in danger and I disfigured Nepeta and I made Kanaya realize she’s afraid of heights and I got Eridan and Calliope to get together only for them to break up half an hour later and I broke my promises like a fucking twat—”

            Redglare rapped him on the head with the sheath of her rapier.  “Then your punishment shall be to watch as your friends suffer, believing that you yourself are the cause.  Let this be a lesson in leadership to you Vantas.  And don’t forget to knock next time.”  And with that, she sent him away.

            He told Kanaya all about it later that evening, as he lay in the cramped little cot, exhausted, wound throbbing. She shook her head and kissed him on the cheek.  “Karkat, you didn’t force any of us to come with you, and Eridan probably would have done it anyway if you hadn’t volunteered yourself.  And likely as not, you would have come with him and nothing would have been different.”  She looked out the tiny slit window; they were on the fourth floor of the castle proper, and there was a sheer drop of at least another storey right under it.  She tried to look at the moon.  “Besides, I remember you coaxing me across that awful little shelf and keeping me company until I calmed down.  You’re a good person Karkat, for all that you think you aren’t.  You’re just too hard on yourself.”  She stood up, stretching, and mussed his hair.  “Sweet dreams.”

            He snorted as she left.  She had no idea.  In his dreams there was no pain, neither for him nor his friends, and, embarrassing though it was, he still dreamed of Jade.  He felt like an idiot for admitting it to himself.  He’d spoken to her twice for the love of Christ.  Love at first sight wasn’t real, it was a thing that happened to knights and maidens fair in _The Lays of Marie de France_.  Next he’d have to rescue her from a dragon or some wizard, and then she’d fall into his arms and they’d live happily ever after.  Dammit all, they were _both_ wizards, and dragons were benign spirits.  Nothing in the book had any basis in reality.  Especially not _that_.  The thing was just fluff and filler, nice to look at but ultimately useless.  It was probably just because she’s the first girl he’d ever seen in anything remotely close to a state of undress.  Even as he thought of it a fearsome blush spread across his cheeks and he was glad Kanaya had left.  He thought he’d be too riled up to sleep, but went out like a candle ten minutes later.

           

            The Palace of the moon.  Princess Opheee was throwing a grand ball for all of the Selenites, and Karkat was, of course, in attendance.  He looked quite dashing in his silver suit, with his hair actually combed for once, a striking figure against the blue-green light of the full-Earth.  Still, he missed his hat.  A blue Selenite, elegant in bearing but awfully ravaged in form, with missing teeth and a shredded ear, approached Karkat, offering him a brand new tricorne made of luna cloth, silvery luminescent green.  Karkat took it with thanks, and gave him a handsome tip, with instructions to buy Simha something nice with it.  The Selenite, Toxetes, broke out into a sweat.  Simha had a hard life ahead of her, and Toxetes was her sole provider.  She reminded Karkat of Nepeta.

            He searched the room, ignoring Girtab as she mocked her human mate, prodding him all the while with her stinger of subservience, and crafty Suhurmas, currently stoned on common moon-dust to mask his true villainy.  He saw the Princess and made his way over to her.  She reminded him a lot of Calliope, inquisitive and nosey, but those very qualities made her a good listener.  She…actually looked quite a bit like her too.  Taller, of course, and far skinnier (except through the bust).  And she was a Selenite of course, with large, elephantine ears fringed in royal Green, silvery cheeks covered in swirls of the same color, a slightly canid nose, and a long mousey tail.  Still, thought Karkat, he just couldn’t see why some people thought she was a self-insert Mary-Sue, whatever the Hell that meant.

            At this point he was quite aware he was dreaming, having finally remembered reading an illegal copy of Callie’s book earlier in the day, but he was still shocked when the dog-like girl in a red coat called to him from across the room, and no one else seemed to notice it.  “Karkat, I’m sorry!”

            “Fuck, what?  This dream is getting weird,” he said, stalking back across the hall.

            “It was just a dream and you didn’t know I was really there, otherwise I’m sure—” she cut off as he took her hand and pulled her towards the balcony.  “Karkat, what are you doing?” she asked, startled.  He shut the French windows (or Venutian? He wasn’t sure what Calliope called them; some made up word) behind them. 

            “Look,” he said.  The massive full-Earth was just beginning to set over the horizon.  The sky looked like black velvet sprinkled all over with diamond dust.  Karkat concentrated and a handful more of stars winked into being.  Beneath them, the silvery moon plains reflected the rich light of the Earth and seemed ablaze with light.  The purple leaves of the vines crawling along the balcony stirred as Karkat willed them to flower.  “It’s beautiful,” Jade whispered, touched by the sight.

            “Callie has a way with words,” Karkat agreed.  Just as Jade said “huh?” he pulled her towards him and planted a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

            She promptly shoved him back and delivered a vicious backhand across his face, giving him three ragged horizontal scratches along his cheek with her claws.  “That is _twice_ now that you’ve tried to molest me in my dreams Vantas!” she shouted, blushing furiously.

            “What the fuck—?” he recalled his lessons on the subject of Green magic and remembered a catalogue of their powers, then paled and blushed by turns.  “Wait…you’re actually here?”

            “Yes Karkat!  I’m actually here!”she shouted at him.  He proceeded to bang his head on the railing, alternatingly apologizing and damning all Greens for intruding even on his most private thoughts.

            “Karkat, stop—”

            _*SMASH*_

            “I’m sorry, I overreacted—”

            _*SMASH*_

             “People have dreams, it is alright—”

            _*SMASH* *SMASH* *SMASH*_

            Jade groaned and threw him to the floor, then sat on his chest and scowled at him.  “Hitting yourself isn’t going to help anything,” she said.

            “Maybe this is a dream,” he muttered.

            She slapped him several times.

            “Okay, I’m sorry!” he shouted, shoving her off of him.  “I’m sorry that I think about you a lot and have dreams about you and that I feel incredibly guilty for letting you get kidnapped right in front of me and letting you watch your patron spirit  die right in front of you like the complete _fucking_ twat that I am!”  An awkward silence passed and the two avoided looking at each other, now as red as they were capable of being.

            “Karkat,” Jade said, barely audible.  His heart skipped a beat.  She was going to let him have it now.  Tell him what a miserable piece of garbage he was.  Or maybe…she was going to tell him that she liked him too and, and—

            “I need your help,” she said.  His head snapped up, both relieved and disappointed.  “I think I know where I am.  He’s keeping me asleep, but sometimes my eyes open up and I see it in my dreams,” she closed her eyes and concentrated visibly, and suddenly they were both there, wherever ‘there’ was.  A vague, blurry place, ill-defined, more an idea than a place.  A memory made while half asleep.  All around there were…things.  Treasures perhaps, and thrones.  Sleeping figures rested on them, or perhaps they were statues.  There was a flurry of sound; feathered wings and the croaking of ravens.

            Yet there, in the center, a stone slab, more solid and definite than most things in real life, and on it, surrounded by a spiky purple aura, was Jade.

 

            The next day, Karkat dragged himself out of bed, startling Mistress Paint so she dropped the fresh pile of bandages.  “Vantas, your face—”

            He felt himself and found he had three ragged scratches on his cheek.  He shrugged; it was still better than he’d left poor Nepeta.

            Karkat stormed out of the room, Mistress Paint following after him, asking him to stop.  He ignored the seeping wetness spreading across his chest as he ascended the stairs to the central tower, breathing harder with every step.

            He made his way to Redglare’s office, knocked three times, and then kicked open the door.  “Oy Vantas, that was rude it were,” shouted Jeffrey from his position in the corner, where he sat polishing one of Redglare’s trophies.

            “Get the fuck out,” Karkat snapped, in a tone that brooked no argument.  Jeffrey looked up at Redglare, pleading.  She stood at the window and said nothing.

            “Madame Redglare, I’m so very sorry,’ announced Mistress Paint as she finally caught up, gasping almost as hard as Karkat was.  “He just pushed past me and ran up here like a man possessed—”

            “Both of you, step outside for a moment,” Redglare said.  “I will speak with Master Vantas in private.”  Paint and Jeffrey, one worried and one visibly relieved, did as she asked, closing the door behind them.  “A moment please,” she said, Just as Karkat opened his mouth.  “Have a seat.  Take care not to bleed on the upholstery though.”  Karkat was disconcerted at how she could tell what he was doing while she still had her attention on the window.

            He sat and waited a minute or so, and then she turned with a sigh, holding a rosary.  Karkat blushed slightly from embarrassment as she put it away in her desk.  “I take it you must have some vital information for me, or else you wouldn’t have dared barging in here again,” she said, awful red eyes glinting at him over the frames of her spectacles.

            “I knocked,” he said.

            “When one knocks, one is supposed to wait for an answer.”

            “Well, you know, being raised alone in the woods, I don’t have a lot of experience with your customs.”

            “I don’t like to _chat_ Vantas, stop wasting my time,” she said, voice dripping acid.

            He took a deep breath and told her everything about his dream with Jade, even the horribly embarrassing parts, explaining how in normal dreams things generally went differently so he knew that this must be real.  Somehow, the talk drifted to the subject of his friends, and how they’d reacted to him ever since the attack, and how he was constantly baffled by their undeserved support.  He concluded feeling drained, emotionally and physically.  “I wish,” he said, “that I knew why people put any amount of faith in me.  I mean, I’m sure Jade could have come to anyone else in the castle.”

            Redglare sighed.  “Has no one ever told you that you have the face of a priest?”

            Karkat raised an eyebrow.

            “It’s true.  They look at you and think, ‘this man can handle the weight of my problems, I shall place them at his feet’, and your aggressiveness just works to strengthen the idea.  ‘He will fight for me’, they say.  And frankly, it will never stop.  My uncle was the same.”

            Karkat was still unsure about the whole thing, but he still asked her how _he’d_ dealt with it.

            “He became a priest.”

            Karkat slapped his forehead.

            “Stop that, it’s unhealthy,” she admonished.  “You are making a habit of striking the seat of all knowledge and power in your body because something has frustrated you, rather than using that very useful tool to _alleviate_ the problem.  You are dismissed.”

            Karkat nodded.  “So, you’re going to start looking for that room?”

            Redglare sighed.  “It would be very difficult to locate a single room in all off the places she could have reasonably been taken within two weeks Karkat,” he felt oddly proud to have her call him by his first name.  He found that he greatly respected this woman.  She was the sort of leader he should aspire to be—

            “And, I am sorry, but I think it was just a dream.”

            Karkat sputtered.  “No!  But…I told you everything so you would understand from the context that—”

            “What I understood,” Redglare interrupted, firmly but not unkindly, “was that you are much more troubled about the events of that night than we had previously believed.”

            “But I know that Greens can visit other people’s dreams—”

            Redglare waved her hand tersely.  “It is a rare gift, and Jade Harley is not on record as having had it.  She might have manifested it under duress, but if she had, there was no need to visit a boy that she had spoken to twice in her life.  Perhaps if you were Green this would make sense—new dreamwalkers find that they can intrude upon very powerful Greens much more easily than non-Greens.”

            She sighed, looking a tad conflicted.  “But—and I do not mean to contradict anything I may have told you about your potential merits—but you are barely Red enough to generate static cling.  How can you be strong enough, in your opposite Color no less, to be the sole succor for a Green’s wandering spirit?  It was just a dream.  Now come along, you look like you are about to _collapse_.”  She stood and led him by the shoulder, gently as a mother, to the door.  She opened it and delivered him into Mistress Paint’s care.  “See to it he doesn’t die on the way to the infirmary.  And make him a nice breakfast after.  Jeffrey, how good are you at cleaning blood off of leather?”

            “Uh—“

            “We’re about to find out,” she said, pulling the dumb-faced boy into the room and shutting the door.

 

**Week III**

            “Ah, Solluxander my ben cove—”

            “Never call me by my full name again—”

            “I would like to commission a project with your little group—”

            “Do you even know what we’re doing here?  We don’t take commissions—”

            “You see, guns only fire once—”

            “Of course they do, that’s what guns do, they shoot one time and hopefully it counts as a free kill—”

            “And they are beastly inaccurate—”

            “That’s why I said hopefully—”

            “So perhaps such a powerful and educated being as yourself could possibly find a solution to these predicaments—”

            “Get the fuck out,” said Sollux, pushing Jakob out the door and slamming it shut.  Or at least that was his intention; what he actually did was slam it on the younger boy’s foot.  He didn’t seem to mind.  “Money is no object, Solluxander.  The entire treasury of the Anglika family is at your disposal,” he flashed a cocky grin.

            Sollux stared at him a long while.  Then he repeated his message of “Get the fuck out,” and shoved him the rest of the way out of the greenhouse.  Unfortunately, it being a greenhouse meant that the walls were made of glass. 

            Jake pressed his face up against the frankly filthy windows and started shouting to be heard.  “PRITHEE! YOU NEEDN’T START FROM SCRATCH, SOLLUXANDER!  I HAVE SOME IDEAS THAT COULD BE QUITE USEFUL IN YOUR RESEARCH!” And he pulled out a rumpled piece of parchment and slapped it against the wall.  Sollux rolled his odd-eyes, and looked at the thing.

            Jesus Christ, he thought, the kid’s too dumb to realize how smart he is.  The thing was practically done except for the building of it, and it would work like a fucking charm.  Sollux sighed and wrote his price in the dirt on the window.  Jakob nodded enthusiastically.  Sollux let him in long enough to snatch the paper, and for Jakob to shout, “NEXT MONTH!” before being kicked out again.

            “Who was that?” a quiet voice from the back of the building, barely audible over the buzzing of the bees.  Aradia was tending to the hive, wearing thick clothing with her long silver hair tied back.  She never looked so good, thought Sollux.  “That Anglika kid.”

            “Which?”

            “The annoying one.”

            “Which?”

            “The youngest one.”

            “Ah.  So what did he want?”

            “He wants us to build him some guns according to his specifications.  You Reds are good at metallurgy right?”

            She nodded vaguely, and indicated that she wanted to see them.  Reading over the paper, slowly and carefully, she raised an eyebrow slightly.  Finally, she said, “this is a moment that shall live in infamy.  Have Feferi get us some tools.”

 

            Sollux had worked on his bees in solitude for a long while.  Some crossed wires in his head or something of the like made it so he could influence not the minds of the creatures, but their development.  It had started with many catastrophic experiments, leaving dozens if not hundreds of crippled, mutant bees awaiting death.  Soon, however, he found out, by process of elimination, how the bees lived and worked and communicated.  The last was particularly important.

            As organized as a beehive is, communication was handled by mundane means.  Fascinating means, but mundane nonetheless.  He wondered if he could imprint the animals with a new way to do it; through the Violetessence.  The other magi scoffed at the Violets, thinking of them as illusionists and snake charmers.  Sollux blamed the Violets themselves.  The collective unconscious of every animal life form at their fingertips, and they lacked the imagination to do anything with it.  He conceived of the idea of using the bees to create a massive communication network.  Simply going to a hive of his bees would allow anyone to instantly send messages to any other hive.  His first experiments could only move in formations of a code that he had to make up himself, but they worked.  Soon, he would get creative, and give them the capability to replicate words, voices, even images.  The transfer of information would be revolutionized.  And he’d be responsible.

            One day, he arrived at his greenhouse and there she was, Aradia, looking at his bees, with a hint of mild interest on her face.  He was of two minds on this intrusion; the first was frustrated.  This was his private space, those were his private bees, and some noble Red girl who didn’t even grasp their significance was standing here ogling them, probably trying to steal their honey or whatever normal people do with bees.  The second, and most influential by just a hair, was that she was probably the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen and he wanted to have her babies.  He remembered that he’d seen her on the boat, and she hadn’t looked half as lovely as she did standing there right then, admiring his bees.  “You’ve done something to them,” she said.  “To what end?”

            He told her.

            She started hanging around after that, watching, occasionally asking questions.  Sometimes however, they just talked.  “I have never seen hair like yours before,” she said.  Sollux’s hair was made up of uneven patches of black and blonde.  He snorted.  “I’ve never seen any like yours either, until I came here.  Your eyes are weird too.”  Her eyes were like perfect rubies, and not weird at all, he thought.  Goddammit, sometimes he hated himself, he just couldn’t shut up.

            She just nodded.  “Due to my appearance I lived in relative seclusion for much of my childhood.  The villagers thought I was a witch.”  And now Sollux felt even more like shit than he had previously.  His crude remarks had brought up bad memories, and now she would never like him.  Well, good, he argued, he didn’t like her either, she was annoying and creepy and—

            Was that a hint of a smile playing across her lips?  Oh.  Oh God no.  The joke was so bad that he couldn’t help but laugh.  It seemed she did, in fact, have a pulse.

            Aradia proved useful; her control over her powers was such that she could create very small amounts of magnetism, without any of that tiresome red lightning, and with that they were able to determine that bees navigated partially through reading magnetic signatures.  She had read a great deal on the subjects of physical science and biology in her seclusion, subjects that Sollux, brilliant that he was, had only a passing relationship with.  He soaked up their conversations, not merely because of the valuable knowledge he was gleaning, but because he loved the sound of her voice.  It was…melodic.

            She had discovered a fourth power of Red magic, or so she believed.  Something like the characteristic red lightning, but it didn’t produce a charge, and seemed to flow in waves.  Using it on the bees just seemed to kill them, but very, very mild amounts, invisibly small, affected the queens in mysterious ways.  Many became bloated and died, others gave birth to mutants.  Still others gave birth to bigger bees and at faster rates, but these were usually stupid and violent.  Only one queen that had already been experimented on, fused with a rose extract to encourage growth, actually gave successful results.  As a strange side-effect, many of her offspring had red and blue eyes.  They stopped experimenting with the fourth power after this, as Aradia feared that they too might grow sick after continued exposure.  Still, Sollux was proud of his colleague, and decided that they should name the fourth power after her; Aradiation.

            In just three weeks, they drastically improved the intelligence of the bees, and their coordination, and their durability.  But Sollux still couldn’t get them to communicate over great distances, and whenever he tried to imbue them with some modicum of his Violet power, it took complete control of their minds and killed them.  “I feel like an ass,” he said, pounding on the table, scattering his instruments and smashing a few unfortunate bees, “we’ve been wasting our time here on something that isn’t even possible.  I’m sorry, you should just go.”

            “Sollux, we are inventing an entirely new field all by ourselves,” she said.  “Of course we are experiencing setbacks.  We simply need to approach the problem from another angle.”  She produced a tiny pin and pricked her finger with it.  Without warning, she pricked Sollux’s as well.

            “Ow, what the fu—” he caught himself before he could curse.  Sollux was a commoner, a blacksmith’s apprentice, as well as being on the lowest rungs of magical society.  Aradia was both a lady and a Red, and he was lucky that she was hanging around him at all.

             She proceeded to stab one of their red-blue queens with it through the rear end, and snip off half with a small pair of clippers, throwing the rest of it away.  Sollux did curse.  “Okay what the _fuck_!?  That was—that was—”

            “Blue magic,” she said, finishing.  “It requires some blood from the caster as well as from the donor, what we call the person whose power is being transferred.  I wonder if it will give them both of your powers or just one—”

            Sollux was hyperventilating.  “I can’t—fucking—I even—I liked you!  Aradia!”

            She cocked her head.  “You don’t like me anymore?”

            He held his head in his hands and screamed.  What was going on in this girl’s mind?  He hardly noticed that he was screaming _yes_.

            “Good,” she said, and continued observing the other queens.

            “No, you can’t just ignore it now as if it never happened!  So, you’re just some Blue mage?  Did you steal some poor Red’s powers to come study here?”

            She gave him the biggest smile yet.  “Oh heavens no.  Do you know what Redglare would do to a person with a Blue affinity?  If I had done what you said, I would have moved to darkest America and lived as a hermit.  And anyone can use Blue magic,” she explained, examining a dead drone with a pair of tweezers.  “It’s not really as bad as all that.”

            He pointed at her.  “It does things to your _soul_ —”

            “The damage is proportional,” she said with a shrug.  “Do you think your soul can’t recover from a pinprick, Sollux?”

            Part of him had no answer to that, another part found it necessary to dissemble.  “You’re lying to me, I know you are because they tell you in Color Theory that only Blue magi can use Blue magic.”

            “No,” said Aradia, noting the growth rate of subject 42-Bs eggs, “they tell you that it’s not a Canonical Color, to mislead you into thinking that only Blue magi can use it.  In fact, while any mage can use Blue magic, a person with a Blue affinity can use _only_ Blue magic.  _That’s_ why they are dangerous; it’s like having a person with loaded pistols instead fingers.”

            Sollux wanted very badly to believe her, but even if he did, it wouldn’t change the fact that she was still using it, and had used it on him, very casually, without his permission.  Aradia ignored his internal turmoil and continued.  “My mother was a Blue witch.  A very weak one, barely strong enough to do it at all, and she taught me everything she knew.”  She very carefully dissected the dead bee.

            Sollux was about to say something.  He was about to kick her out of the greenhouse.  He was about to confess his undying love.  He was about to go straight to Redglare and tell her about what he’d seen, what had been done to him.  He was about grab Aradia and hold her and never let her go. 

            Then he noticed that there was no order to her activities.  Aradia was going from one thing to another with no rhyme or reason.  She was stalling, trying not to look at him.  Her hands were shaking.  Fuck, he’d hurt her.  Sollux approached her.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

            There was a flash of relief on her face as she turned to face him and gave Sollux a kiss.  It felt as if everything around him had suddenly exploded into nothing and somehow become more solid all at once.  He felt incredibly cold and strangely hot.  It was like dying, and coming back to life again.

            He asked her why.  “I wanted to,” she said.  “I’ve never been kissed.”  She kissed him again.  “I enjoyed the first one,” she explained, “but you seem to be of two minds about everything.”

            Sollux _was_ of two minds about everything, and that was part of why he hated himself, sometimes.  Another part was Feferi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I worked on this chapter all day, stopping only to eat, because I knew it was special. This chapter pushes the word count over 50,000, which according to NaNoWriMo is about 175 pages. I sincerely thank you for putting up with this for that long. Seriously, if you read this far, you can whisper my name three times into the west, I will appear to sing you the Midnight Crew song. The hardest decision I will make this year is whether to marry abnormallll or CyanideSweetheart. Another thing is that while this work was already the longest I’d ever written chapters ago, it is with this one that it becomes twice as long as my second longest work. Dayumn son.  
> Shoulda called this the romance chapter huh? I don’t think I’ve ever written the word ‘kiss’ this many times. When I said that there would be a timeskip, what I meant is that we would rush through the events of a month until everyone was all caught up. That said, fuck this chapter was a beast to write. And that’s with the John Segment made into its own chapter a while back. And in fact, I decided to split it in two; the next chapter will conclude a few plot threads left hanging in this chapter that would have gotten their own vignette. And it still might be too long. Sorry to delay the launch of Empire again; go and read Trollish Layer to tide you over.  
> Yeah. Wait, I promised something. Solomonari. According to Romanian folklore there’s a place called the Scholomance where the devil trains people in witchcraft, accepting nine students at a time. At the end of the year, there’s a competition and whoever comes in last place has to go with the devil as his attendant, the rest go free and get to use their magic for good if they are so inclined.  
> I adapted this folktale to form the backbone of my world here, with various key embellishments. Each of the nine Solomonari is a founder of one of the Colors. I’d already decided that Odin and Vyasa would be the Black and the Green founder respectively. The Red founder was the White’s (in our story, Scratch) traveling companion and lover until she died tragically. The ninth one that gets ‘taken by the devil’ in the myth was the Colorless founder, who found himself trapped in the outer dark for eternity. Odin’s wife was a vain, proud woman, and demanded to be given magic, so he tried to make her into a mage, and she became the first Pink. The Bronze founder was half-fairy and hideously deformed, so he shunned humanity and lived out in the wilderness, so very few people can use his Color. Orange is free, unconstrained magic predating the Solomonari, and no one knows much about nowadays.  
> The Canonical Colors that I mentioned are the six that every mage can use to some extent, Black, White, Red, Green, Violet, and Yellow. Your affinity is the color you are strongest in; usually by a factor of ten. The non-canonical Colors can only be used by a mage with that Color as their affinity. Blue is a special case that I explained in-chapter here.  
> I just reread the thing beginning to end. God I'm a hack. Thank you once again, you poor deluded fools. Nah, I'm kidding it's alright.


	15. The Philosophy Chapter

**Week III.5**

            Karkat stumbled around the basement, looking for Gamzee and Tavros.  He was fairly lost, or so he came to believe after an hour of searching.  Frustrated, he threw open a door at random and wished he hadn’t.  Taking up most of the tiny broom closet was Equius.  What made Karkat pause however, was Damara, looking positively tiny with all four of her limbs wrapped around the huge man.  Both were looking rather disheveled.  Equius made a choking sound as his face turned a shade of red Karkat had not thought humanly possible.  Damara flashed him a big grin.  “Either close the door or come and join us, but whichever you choose, choose quickly, Damara is getting impatient.”  She winked.

            Karkat slammed the door shut while shouting “I fucking own you now, Zahhak!  I _own_ you!”  He wouldn’t actually do anything to them though.  Karkat felt he couldn’t judge people, as he was only down here in the first place to get shitfaced.

            The pain in his chest was getting worse, not better, and as a result Karkat was getting increasingly more irritable.  He refused to see people and spent most of the day in bed, as the pain kept him from sleeping until he finally passed out from exhaustion.  There were dark bags under his eyes constantly now.  Today when he’d grit his teeth, crawled out of bed, and told Mistress Paint that he felt he could go for a walk, he’d done it for desperation, not a sign of recovery as he’d reassured.  Karkat knew the philosophy club was still going strong, having even acquired new members.  Despite having to actually look at his friends again, he figured that liquor would be his last chance at merciful oblivion.

            He heard a voice just then.  “Motherglubbin miracles….” Followed by a hiccup.  Must be it, he thought, heading towards the sound.  He guessed it had come from three doors down; he kicked open the door and shouted “Gimme booze!  Now!”  Pungent green fluid suddenly dribbled onto his head, quickly followed by the sound of giggling.

            Sure enough, the door hid a little cellar overflowing with spider webs, and seated in a circle in the middle were Gamzee, Tavros, and a girl he didn’t recognize.  In her case though, ‘seated’ was entirely the wrong word, as it seemed that she was half-buried in the stone floor.  He thought she must be another Brown, but then looked around and saw that the lower half of her body was sticking out of the wall right next to the doorframe.  Just above Karkat, a disembodied hand was holding an empty glass.  A Pink then.  “You can have mine,” she slurred, giggling again, “I have to go now, Sollux is calling me!”  How the Hell could anyone be calling her?  Maybe this was a bad idea.  The girl pulled herself up out of the ground as if she were climbing out of a pool, and her body retreated back into itself.  He gave her a wide berth as she exited the room; she gave _him_ a big bright smile, saying, “You’re that sick kid,” and patting him on the head.  “Poor baby.  You’re so brave!” He saw that her eyes were a dozen different hues of Pink.  Her hair rippled and moved as if she were underwater as she walked away.  It was incredibly disconcerting.

            Tavros waved him over.  Gamzee spoke.  “Hey Karkat you straight villain—”

            “Villainous motherfucker, yeah, I get it,” he said, sitting in the spot where the girl had been lounging.  “I need some goddamn booze.  I can’t fucking stand it anymore—”

            “Be at fucking peace my son,” said Gamzee in a faux-priestly voice.  “All you need to do is provide us with a query.  This is a philosophy club after all.”

            “We were having a really nice discussion with Feferi,” Tavros started, sounding enthused, “about free will.  Apparently there’s all kinds of different universes stacked on top of this one, and they’re all slightly different, based on the choices people have made—”

            “Fucking wonderful,” Karkat interrupted, “I’m sure I can contribute greatly to this dialogue once I get some goddamned green fairy in me.  Now _give me the booze_ ,” he said, reaching for the bottle in Gamzee’s fist.

            “Uh-uh villain,” he admonished, wiggling a finger while pulling back the bottle.  “You need to give us something new to be jawin’ about.”  Tavros shrank a little; he’d liked the universe-talk.

            Karkat growled.  He blurted out the first thing he could think of.  “Why the fuck do people fall in love?  It’s absolute bullshit, we should just have babies and ship them off to live with, fucking, trained animals or some shit.  You always end up falling for the wrong person too, as if love in and of itself weren’t bad enough!  Someone who won’t give you the time of day because they’re goddamned loopy over someone else who actually just hates their guts!” Karkat’s voice cracked before going on, “and the more they hate you, the more you want them, because the truth is you hate yourself more than anything, and you’re punishing yourself for being such a miserable lump of excrement by yearning for something that will never ever be yours, so you go begging the loonies in the basement for a goddamn sip of their shitty alcohol, because in this scenario you are also probably dying of a curse, so just give me the fucking booze or I’ll strangle you with each other’s intestines,” he said, finishing rather weekly and not meeting Gamzee’s eyes.

            Tavros gulped.  “Wow, Karkat, I had no idea—”

            Gamzee clapped.  “That was fuckin’ beautiful motherfucker.  You got the soul of a poet.” 

            “And I’m about to have the fucking heart of a drunkard if—”

            He handed Karkat a green bottle.  “Take a swig of the old miracle elixir and give us some more of your thoughts about love and shit.”

            “Um, Gamzee, do you think it’s really wise to, uh, in Karkat’s current emotional state—” Karkat ignored Tavros and chugged the contents of the bottle.  The absinthe was incredibly strong, but also incredibly sweet, with a powerful herbal taste.  It was so strong in general, in fact, that Karkat regretted having drunk his first one so fast, but was soon asking for more. 

            Things quickly degenerated from there.  They went from discussing love in all its forms to making up a ridiculous song inquiring as to the nature of love with only nine distinct words, to watching in fascination as Karkat’s gravity shifted towards the ceiling.  Somehow, he was using magic without being angry, he thought, looking down at Gamzee, who may or may not have been transforming into a hydra.  Tavros was gazing in terror, but at Karkat, now crackling with red lightning, so he had to guess it was the later.  At some point, another philosopher, a blonde girl, had appeared, and was talking animatedly with monster-Gamzee.  A bubble of dark blood, slowly brightening to candy red, obscured Karkat’s vision for a moment, accelerating towards the ground more and more as it left his personal gravitational field.  He saw Tavros swim away, the stones parting for him like water, as one of Gamzee’s serpentine necks circled around Karkat and brought him gently down to earth.  His last thought before passing out was how wonderful that miracle elixir felt coursing through his veins.

           

            Jade met him at an oriental teahouse he’d seen a painting of in the Scholomance.  It had been a chiaroscuro, meaning intensely black shadows and melancholy yellow lights, details hiding everywhere, never to be found.  Dramatic, intense, sad. Seeing the painting was one of the few times he’d spoken with Damara that she hadn’t made innuendoes at him.  “The serving girls are dressed like Koreans and the signs are in Chinese and the musician in the corner is playing a Japanese instrument and they all look like Turks,” she’d said, and stormed off in a huff.

            “Well, I thought it was good,” Karkat mumbled as he sat down cross-legged at the low black table, to keep the world from spinning.  Even in his dream he was tipsy.  Shit, no need to sugarcoat; drunk.  Damara served him some tea.  He wasn’t much of a tea-drinker, but that stuff Kanaya always had at breakfast smelled excellent, and apparently caffeine was good for this sort of thing.  In the corner, Equius strummed a sad melody on his weird triangular banjo.  “Demonstrates severe lack of cultural understanding.  Sir,” she said, with an exaggerated curtsy.

            “I don’t need to be lectured by my own imagination,” he said, sipping the tea.  It was excellent.

            A throat cleared itself somewhere in the dark.  “You certainly do have very interesting dreams Karkat,” said Jade, stepping into the light.

            He snapped his fingers.  “Damara, tea!”  She dumped it on his head.  He sighed an exaggerated sigh, and willed a cupful into being for Jade.  She accepted graciously, and sat down across from him.  “Why are these two here, specifically?”

            Karkat chuckled.  “I caught them in the closet today, can you fucking believe?  Here I thought she was all talk, but then she goes and seduces the mountain that sweats over there.”  He started pounding the table.

            “It’s not that funny—”

            “I told them I owned them now, it was great—”

            “It’s actually kind of horrible—”

            “She has like, no shame, invited me in right after—”

            “Karkat, are you inebriated?”

            He wiggled his finger.  “I assure you, I’m quite ebriated, Jade.”

            “That’s not a word—”

            “It is a word in _Spanish_ , Jade, you are remonstrating a severe lack of cultural misunderstanding Jade,” he said with a flourish that spilled most of his tea.

            Jade rolled her eyes and drank some of her own tea.  A look of shocked delight spread across her face.  “Wow, you are a wonderful lucid dreamer, this is better than any real tea I’ve ever had,” she said, finishing it off. 

            “You can probably do better,” he said, regaining a semblance of control “being properly Green.”

            She shook her head.  “It’s a learned skill, not magic.  I can barely affect my own dreams, and I can’t do anything in yours except…show up.”

            Karkat whistled.  “Nice, I’m good at something.”

            Jade giggled.  “So, how’s the search going?”

            Karkat generated more tea, not even bothering with Damara, who had gone off to talk to Equius, probably about Karkat.  Shit, _of course_ about Karkat, she was just a figment of his imagination.  You know, he thought, they are kind of sweet together.  “Redglare,” he said, “told me you aren’t real, and that I’m a traumatized little boy, and that I should take up the priesthood, traveling the land and spreading the good news and getting martyred someday.  In those exact words.”

            Jade gasped, dropping her teacup.  “Are you kidding me?!  Are they even looking for me—?”

            “That’s right,” Karkat said, standing up awkwardly, “and since you’re not real, it means I can do anything I want with you,” he cackled evilly. Karkat stalked off into the shadows.

            The lamp on the table sputtered and went out.  “Shit,” said Jade, knocking over the table and running in the direction she’d come from—

            Only to bump into Karkat, holding a box.  ‘Wow, you must have a really low opinion of me,” he said, helping her up.  “To be fair I was actively trying to scare you.”

            “Well, you have naughty dreams about me and _apparently_ drink to excess,” she admonished.

            “All we ever did was kiss and I took up drinking today to dull the pain of the wound I got trying to save you,” he snapped, shoving the box into her arms.

            Jade put her hands over her mouth.  “I completely forgot about that!  I am so sorry! I’m a terrible friend.”

            “Yeah, you’re pretty shit at that,” Karkat agreed, “But I still like you.  Now open your present or get the Hell out of my brain.”

Shamefacedly, Jade opened the box and pulled out a long black dressed spangled with flakes of silver and green.  It looked like the night sky, and would have been impossible to make in the real world.  “I never questioned the fact that you kept showing up wearing my coat, even though you look so damn uncomfortable all the time,” he explained, “but I guessed from what you just said that you’re stuck with it?”

            “It’s so ostentatious…” Jade muttered.  “I love it!”  She disappeared into the shadows to try it on.  Karkat straightened out his suit.  As soon as she came back, music began to play, and he caught her up in a dance.  “Are you kidding me Karkat?”

            Spinning awkwardly, he said, “Look, if you’re gonna be all kidnapped and bothering me in my dreams, then we might as well have a good time.”

            She laughed as he spun her into an end-table.  “You are actually trying to court me in your sleep?  _Swoon_ ,” she said with an exaggerated gesture, “how romantic!  Let me be all starry-eyed for a minute to take it in.”

            “Who said _anything_ about courtship?  Not I, Jade.  Not I.  What are you trying to tell me?”  He tried to dip her, but went down too low and they both ended up on the floor, laughing. 

            “That you are a terrible dancer!” she said, punching him in the shoulder.

            “You’re nothing to write home about either,” he sneered.

            She sighed.  “The last time I danced was with John.  Now _he_ could cut a rug.”

            Karkat snorted.  “Don’t try to make me jealous, I _know_ that’s your brother’s name.”

            “Who told you?” she snapped.

            He shrugged.  “Redglare.  What’s the big deal?  So I know his name is John Egbert—”

            “So, you know then,” she said, sadly.

            “I _just_ said—”

            I mean about _me_ ,” she muttered.

            It took Karkat a moment to realize what she was talking about.  “I…frankly don’t care.”

            She groaned.  “I know you had an unusual childhood, but being illegitimate means that _there is no future with me_ Karkat, so you should just dump this whole infatuation you have—”

            “Meanwhile, you continue to invade my dreams almost every night and ask me to rescue you while showing off your legs?” he deadpanned.  “That is very likely to happen.”  In a whisper, he added “that was a lie, I’m crazy about you.”

            Laughing, Jade hit him again, in the chest.  Her hand came back bloody.  She paled.  “Oh no.  Karkat, you should wake up.  Now.”

            Karkat looked down and saw that he was bleeding profusely.  Again.  “Huh.  It doesn’t even bother me anymore.”

            “It drove you to drink!” she shouted.  “Of course it’s bothering you!”

            “You know,” he said, ignoring her comment, “the funny thing is, I feel like I’m about to pass out.  But I’m already passed out.  What would happen if I went under right now—?”

 

            Karkat woke up to someone pouring cold water on his face.  His entire body felt like pins and needles, except for the wound which felt like cold fire, and he couldn’t move.  A disinterested voice began telling him what was going on.  “I used some puffer fish venom to put you under, simulating a death-like state.  You likely would have died in the time it took to go get help otherwise.  She should be arriving momentarily.”

            “Mistress Paint?” he muttered thickly.

            The voice snorted.  Karkat opened his eyes, and could blurrily make out a young woman with very light blonde hair and shockingly purple eyes.  “Paint is a lovely woman but she could not doctor her way out of a paper bag.  I sent for someone with experience in your particular breed of problem.”

            “Who are you?” Even his tongue felt prickly now.

            “A fellow philosopher.  I heard some of your discourse on romance before you passed out, and had several fine points to add, but unfortunately you were quite incoherent by the time I actually entered the room.”

            “Why are there so many girls in this stupid thing?” he muttered.  “You, the pink, Nepeta—”

            She snorted again.  “Because we actually like to discuss philosophy instead of just wanting to get shitfaced.  _Absinthe_ , honestly.  I hardly touch the stuff.  My sister has a drinking problem.”

            “Yeah,” Gamzee agreed, “Roxanne’s proper villain.  Love rusticating with that girl.”

            “I uh, don’t think that’s what she meant,” Tavros said from off in the corner.

            At that moment, Sollux entered with Aradia in tow, led by the Pink from earlier, Feferi he supposed.  “Hey sick kid,” she said, waving.  “We’re going to make you all better now, probably.”  Oh God.  If a trained doctor couldn’t help him, then what chance did these freaks have?

            Aradia was talking at him, calmly and rationally, looking him straight in the eye.  “From what I can gather, you were stabbed with a needle that had already been used; ‘needle’ being the Blue magical term for any sharp object used to transfer powers from a donor to a target.  The process causes trauma to the target soul by imprinting it with what is called a shadow of the donor.  Think of it as a surgeon performing an operation, and then stitching you up again.  However, a needle that has already been used on someone does not stitch them up afterwards, leaving them vulnerable to a spiritual infection.  It is essentially like being stabbed with a rusty dagger.  It can be cured quite simply, however, by completing the process.”  She pulled out a very large sewing needle.  “The question is whether you want to gain a skill or lose one.”

            Karkat stared in horror. “I didn’t understand any of that,” he said.

            “I learned to juggle once and haven’t done it in ages,” she said.  “Would you like that?  Or is there some skill you feel you no longer need?  If you give me time to find a larger needle or perhaps a knife I can remove one of your phobias.  Oh, or perhaps your anger issues?”

            Karkat continued staring in horror.  “Juggling why the fuck not,” he finally said.

            She nodded and pricked her finger then stuffed a wad of leather into his mouth.  “This is going to hurt you much more than it will hurt me,” she warned, “and it’s going to hurt me a lot.”  Karkat started shaking.  “Are you afraid?  Or simply going into shock?  I’m going to assume the later.  Regardless someone should restrain us both.”  Tavros scooted over and sank Karkat’s limbs into the floor while Feferi and Sollux grabbed hold of Aradia.

            “Rose,” said Aradia, “I think he needs more puffer fish venom.”  The blonde girl nodded and caressed his face, after which Karkat’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he lay still.  Aradia smeared the drop of blood all around the sewing needle, then breathed on it.  The blood disappeared, leaving the needle shiny as if polished, with a slight cobalt sheen.  Aradia held it up to her ear and muttered “I shouldn’t have given him the choice,” before sticking it into the soft flesh behind the lobe.

 

            Karkat woke up with a gasp half an hour later, to see Sollux looming over him with a pair of shears.  “Jesus Christ, a face like yours oughta come with a warning label!”  He tried to pull back but was still restrained.

            “I sent away everyone else so we could talk, you and I.”  He shook his head.  “What makes you so special?” asked Sollux in a melancholy tone.  “Why do you deserve to have Aradia do that to herself just to save your dumbass life?”  He leveled the shears at Karkat’s chest—

            And snipped off the thick sewing needle just above the skin where it was sticking out.  Karkat saw that his shirt was now a pile of bloodstained shreds on either side of him.  More impressively, however, was that said needle was stuck smack-dab in the center of what was now a hideous scar.  A new scar, barely healed, still a tad tender, but a _scar_ , not a _wound_. “I waited for her to wake up,” Sollux said, interrupting Karkat’s reverie.  “She was fine and told me to stop wasting time and I should have stuck you with the needle the moment she hit the floor.  She promised me that the school was wrong and you don’t have to kill the donor.  There’s not even a scratch on her now.  Thank fucking God, because if she hadn’t pulled through I’d have slit your damn throat with these shears.”

            Karkat nodded.  “Wow, you are an ugly, colossal bastard.”

            Sollux smirked, showing off crooked teeth.  “Don’t I know it?  If you knew what the fuck went on in this head of mine, you’d gouge out your own brain in despair.”

            Karkat blew a raspberry.  “Oh please, I am so much worse-off than you are.  You’ve got a girl like _that,”_ said Karkat, indicating Aradia, “hanging on your arm.  The girl I like hates me more or less, and is probably using me, and may not even be real now that I think about.  My whole fucking love life is a lie.”

            “Is he up?” Aradia’s melodic voice rang out from the back of the room.

            “You just keep resting, we’re having a chat,” Sollux announced.  To Karkat; “Whatever.  Yeah, Aradia is basically perfect, and I’m just reiterating that so you can understand what a detestable monster I am.”  He leaned in and whispered.  “I’m head over heels in love with Feferi.”

            Karkat rolled his eyes.  “Then be with Giggly McSpace-Witch, I don’t give a fuck.  That’s not so bad at all.”

            “No, I mean both of them, at the same time.  And they fucking _know_ , they’re _understanding_.  I don’t deserve either one of them and somehow both of them are perfectly willing to go along with me.  They’re even fucking _friends_.  So it occurs to me, if they don’t even care, how fucking sexually non-threatening do I have to be for this to even be a thing?”

            “Oh boohoo,” Karkat pantomimed crying as he tried to sit up.  After some effort, earthen mounds on his arms crumbled away.  There was a tightness in his chest, like the skin was stretching over his old wound, but it held.  “Boohoo, I say.  Two girls are willing to joint-marry you, and who even gives a flying fuck?  I have no parents and no memory of my childhood and my sister and I—whose real family was murdered in front of her by the way—my sister and I were raised by a crazy faceless immortal out in the middle of the woods.  _In Transylvania_.  That’s like, ten times worse than regular woods.”

            Sollux laughed in his face.  “Oh, a loving and powerful family living in an idyllic locale; what a tortured fucking childhood!  It’s like you’re Candide but somehow worse off!  My dad practically sold me to a blacksmith when I was nine because all the local kids thought I was a goblin with my weird eyes and hair.  They called me dog-boy and threw rocks at me and one of them burned my arm with a hot coal, so I picked it up and stuck it in his eye and then the magistrate had me flogged publically.  You just can’t fucking beat me Karkat, I am so much more pathetic and worthless than you that I’ve gone all the way back around and become your superior.”

            The two boys stared at each other.  “It’s like we’re fucking brothers,” said Karkat, and they hugged.

            Aradia, having finally grown impatient, strode over to the two boys and pushed them apart.  “Karkat, count to five for me, while jumping on one foot.”  She proceeded to make him do a variety of what he felt were entirely pointless exercises, both physical and mental. 

            “Now write me a sonnet.”

            “I couldn’t do that before I got stabbed!”

            “Point west.”

            “I was lost when I walked in here!”

            Aradia nodded enigmatically.  “To the least common denominator, factor the following eq—” and she threw a handful of stones at him.  Completely automatically, Karkat snatched them out of the air and began to juggle.  He smiled, surprised at himself.

            “Have I asked you any questions relating to an entity or entities known as The Stranger in the Pallid Mask, the Lord of Silence, or the King in Yellow, or a world called Hastur, a country by the name of Traum, or a city named Carcosa?”

            “What?” he said, dropping the stones; one hit him on the head.  “Ow!  No!” Aradia breathed a sigh of relief.  “What does that have to do with anything?”  Karkat insisted.

            “It means we are both untainted by the outer dark; I’ll call everyone back in,” she said in a tone as casual as if she were saying that they were untainted by dust.

            Karkat and Sollux both sputtered.  “We could have tainted by the outer dark?”  Aradia mumbled in the affirmative while she opened the door.  In came not just the members of the philosophy club, but the rest of Karkat’s friends as well, and this time, he did not scoff at the requisite group hug. 

            “Gamzee ran around the school looking for us to say that a miracle was about to happen and I almost didn’t come but he was right,” said Kanaya, rushing over to him, tears in her eyes.  He realized, as his sister threw him to the floor with her momentum and the rest of them piled on, that life was too short to gripe about something as silly as a display of affection, and even came to the realization that they probably only did it to bother him anyway.  What was wrong with sharing a moment with people who loved him, even if it was such a ridiculously over-the-top and juvenile moment?  It was best, he thought to let go of pettiness and—

            And Strider was in here too, standing near the back of the room, wearing some ridiculous black-lensed spectacles, with his hand on Nepeta’s arm.  “Okay, everyone, get off now.”  Karkat said as calmly as he could manage.  Sensing the tension in his voice, his friends complied readily, for once.  He picked himself off the floor, dusted off his clothes, and strode over to him, eyes flashing.

            “Karkat, it’s not what you think,” said Nepeta, transposing herself between the two, arms akimbo.  Both boys were a full head taller than she was and simply looked over her head at each other.  “We’re just friends!” she insisted.  They both continued glaring at one another, or rather Karkat continued glaring; Strider, ever relaxed, simply _looked_ , not even something as intense as regular staring.  Nepeta growled.  “Why do you even _care_ Karkat!?  Maybe we should just go David, we’re clearly not—”

            Karkat sighed as all the anger left him.  “You’re right, I have no right to tell you who you can and can’t be friends or whatever with.  If you say that Strider is worth being friends with, that’s your business.  I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eye, “for everything.”

            “It’s okay,” she muttered.  “I think, maybe we should go anyway—”

            “Only because this is a terrible place to have a celebration,” finished Strider.  “It’s too small and too dusty and there are spiders everywhere.  Let’s go to the north courtyard, and someone should nick us a cake from the kitchen—”

            “Already on it!” shouted Feferi, leaving a pink after-image as she clipped through reality.

            Everyone looked at Karkat expectantly.  Eridan approached him, looking stern.  “She’s already getting it Kar—”

            Karkat growled.  “Fine, let’s have a party, I don’t care.”

            Eridan slapped him on the back, snorting.  “You ought to care; it’s for your benefit.”

            A few minutes later, everyone was gathered out in the North courtyard, where Feferi had already arranged a picnic, not just with a cake, but with every possible cake that could have been baked on this particular day had circumstances been otherwise, including a strange green cake that made Jakob’s eyes dilate once eaten (no one else was brave or foolish enough to try it), as well as sandwiches, punch, tea, and some sort of very sweet, bubbly drink, that looked like beer but she claimed contained no alcohol whatsoever. “I should know, I drank like three of them, and now I want to go punch a mountain lion!” she said, as she grabbed Sollux by the hands and started spinning him around.

            It turned out Tavros could play the guitar, Gamzee the horn, and Nepeta the castanets.  Of course, neither of them knew the same songs, and so just ended up making a cacophonous travesty, each struggling to be heard over the others.  Soon, Strider added his own voice into the mix, deliberately throwing off their tempo and making the attempt at music even more hilariously terrible.

            A while later, Calliope sidled up to him while munching on a roast beef sandwich.  “Um, so, are you….good now?”

            He raised an eyebrow.  “The devil are you talking about?”

            “Well, here you are, with us, enjoying our company after barely any sort of confrontation.  One could say that you’re behaving uncharacteristically.”

            He shrugged.  “I’ve always done what I wanted.”

            “But there are _lower colors_ here!”  A few people looked at Calliope suspiciously.  She laughed nervously.  Whispering, she added, “Isn’t that one of your triggering…things, or what have you?”

            He looked out over the crowd, red eyes glinting over the dark lenses.  His brow furrowed.  “I’m working on it.  Really I am.  I definitely downplayed that aspect of myself recently because she doesn’t approve and I guess that means I know it’s wrong on some level.”  He laid back on the grass, resting his head on his palms with a sigh.  “Or I guess Nepeta is working on it while I make sarcastic quips.  A happy arrangement, I say,” suddenly back to his old self.

            Calliope flashed a wide smile.  “What?” he asked.

            Smile growing huge she asked, “You and her?”

            He groaned.  “Firstly, if your question had curled upwards at the end any more than that, it would have justified the use of multiple question marks, were this conversation being transcribed.  And nobody wants that, it looks awful on the page. Secondly, what the bloody fuck, a boy and a girl can’t just be friends?  Very good friends who have a positive, calming influence on one another and improve each other as people?”

            Calliope’s smile was enormous.  “That sounds an awful lot like romance!”

            He groaned.  “Well it isn’t.  Or if it is, it’s some kind of brand new, non-sexual romance, and nothing at all like what you’ve been thinking—Oh Lord, now what?”

            She gasped, reeling back, mouthing something as she dropped her sandwich to reach into her coat pocket.  “Brand…new…kind…of… _romance_!”  She pulled out a leather notebook and a stub of charcoal and started scribbling furiously.  Strider slapped his forehead.

 

            In his dreams that night, Karkat reenacted the party for Jade.  “And that weird Pink girl stole about forty cakes for us—”

            “Oh, yay, Feferi!” Jade shouted through a mouthful of chicken and watercress.  She stood up and walked towards the fake Feferi, dancing with a confused looking Sollux.  She swallowed.  “And Rose is here too!  Augh, I guess you don’t know them well enough to make them talk, huh?”

            Karkat shook his head.  “Well, there’s this.”  The fake-Feferi opened her mouth and said “I drank like three of them, and now I want to go punch a mountain lion!”

            Jade nearly collapsed with laughter.  “Never, ever tell me the context to that!”  Straightening up, she pushed her spectacles back up her nose and sheepishly asked for another sandwich.

            “Go ahead, that’s what it’s there for.”  She immediately attacked the nearest plateful of food as if it had insulted her mother.

            “Wow, you sure can eat…” a thought entered Karkat’s mind and he felt a sudden surge of anger.  “Wait, is he even feeding you?”

            Jade took a moment to swallow.  “Just thin broth once in a while.  I’m half starved to be honest.  This dream food isn’t really helping at all.”  She consumed an entire bacon sandwich in one bite.  “But it’s _so_ good!”

            Watching her eat like a condemned prisoner, Karkat felt anger like he had never felt before.  Not merely in magnitude, but also in quality.  He realized that he had never been angry on behalf of someone else.  And while there was still an awful burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, and the idea that he would feel incredibly drained afterwards, the difference was like the difference between burning wood and burning oil.  One was erratic and aimless, burned out too fast and left soot everywhere, the other clean and bright and would last him for ages.  “Jade,” he said.  “I’m going to rescue you.”

            “Karkat, how can you—”

            “I don’t know,” he admitted, “But I’m going to do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Jegus, another long chapter. Remember once again that this chapter, the previous one, and the most recent John chapter were all supposed to be one chapter, and the next chapter will also have plot threads that were supposed to be in the one mega-chapter that I now realize would have been about 20% of the story. The next chapter however, will also be the beginning of shit getting serious again. Say goodbye to all this delicious shipping folks, this is a MANLY fic. Although I can safely say that this should now count as its own mini-arc, let’s call it “One Month More.”  
> Feferi fans, fear not, she’ll get her own segment later, I just didn’t want to have another sequence of her and Sollux falling in love because it would have been too much like the Aradia one and there is enough shipping going on already, seriously, this fucking chapter and the previous one made me rearrange tags because I was suddenly lying.  
> Oh, yeah, they were only cuddling.  
> Maybe we should have called it the ‘egregious stabbing chapter’, eh? Eh?  
> Feel free to voice your questions and concerns down there, I have a feeling you should have some after reading this for some reason.


	16. The Portentous Chapter

**Week IV**

            David struck Karkat in the face with a stocking full of shillings.  Karkat struggled against his bonds, but the ropes held.  ‘You bastard!” he roared, spitting a glob of blood.

            “The key to your safe release is right here in my hand,” he said, hefting the stocking.  “There’s no other metal in the room.  You’re gonna have to rip it out of my hands and use them to cut your bonds.”

            “Or I could just kill you!” Karkat shouted, crackling with red lightning.

            David struck him again.  “You need more control boy.  What you’re doing right now, I need to you to do on a much smaller scale, and inside this sock—”  The stocking exploded, the coins flying towards Karkat’s wrists, shearing through the ropes and giving him some nasty cuts.  “That was almost good, not like last time where you just burned down the whipping post.  You need to learn subtlety.”

            “You need to learn that arrogant shit-stains are to be seen and not heard,” said Karkat, holding out his hands and conjuring a heavy sickle, blade glowing red, crackling with electricity.

            David sighed.  “Copying my technique Karkat?  Really?  Well, have at me—” David raised his hand to summon Blazing Hot Betty.  Nothing happened.  He looked down.  There were  holes in his pockets.

            Karkat grinned like a maniac.  “No subtlety eh?”

            David straightened his spectacles.  “Clever girl.”

 

            The morning after Karkat’s survival party, he had gone to Strider and asked for some special training.

            “Why the Hell do you think I would train you any better than the specialists working at this school, or even your dear old Solomonar daddy?”

            Karkat gritted his teeth.  “I don’t want to arouse suspicion.”

            “By suddenly wanting to spend time with the person you hate most?  Excellent way to avoid suspicion, that.”  Strider said, putting on his darkened glasses as he stepped out of his room. 

            “How can you even see in the stupid things?” Karkat asked.

            “Better than normal,” Strider answered.  “They keep out the glare.  Nepeta wants me to make her a pair.  Buggering Christ I just rhymed.”

            “Stop muttering into the air like a religious pilgrim and tell me if you’re not going to help.” 

            Strider shrugged.  “Sure, it’ll be fun, for me.  Maybe the ancient Strider methods will get some results out of you.  But I must warn you,” he said, assuming as menacing a tone as he could manage while still sounding uninterested, “this is going to be the most grueling experience of your life.  By the end of the week you are going to hate your father.  I mean me.”

            Karkat blew a raspberry.  “I already hate you—”

            “No, not yet,” he interrupted.  “But you will.  We’ll start sometime today.  Or tomorrow.  Keep an eye out.”

           

            That night as Karkat was walking to his room from dinner, Strider dive-tackled him out of a window.  “Fly you bastard!  Fly!” Strider shouted as the pair fell the six or so stories from the boys’ dormitory to the ground, Karkat screaming all the way.  At the last minute, magic surged up from within and an enormous wave of gravity poured from his chest, slowing then to a reasonable, non-bone-crushing pace.

            Karkat landed face first in the snow, with Strider sitting on his back.  The other boy quickly ran off somewhere.  Karkat dug himself out of the snowdrift, feeling just a bit proud—

            Until an arc of red lightning struck the ground right in front of where his head had been.  “Defend yourself!” Strider shouted, loosing another bolt at Karkat’s feet.  He ran.

            “Brave Sir Vantas!  Bravely ran away!” Strider sang, firing another burst.  “Learn by doing, that’s the Strider motto!  Well, actually it’s _Non Curamus_ , but you understand what I’m saying.”  Although he was now almost twenty yards away, this time the bolt actually clipped Karkat in the shoulder.  He turned, angry, and fired off an enormous blast that left a crater deep enough to bury a man, and likely would have killed David if he hadn’t jumped away with unnatural ease.  Afterwards he sat down cross-legged and waved. 

            Karkat held his hands over his head and screamed, conjuring up a ball of red light.  It was not like what he and David had been doing before, but he didn’t care about the potential ramifications of his actions.  Strider continued sitting.  Karkat hesitated.  “Are you going to kill me Karkat?” he asked, sounding bored.

            “Um,” Karkat looked up.  The ball was awfully big, and it hurt his eyes to look at it.  “Maybe?”

            “I’ll have you know I’ve been in three fights this year, excluding this one, and have yet to explode a single person,” Strider explained in his trademark deadpan. 

            “You…” Karkat started lamely, “you threw me out a window and burned me!”

            “That’s one of my fondest early memories,” said Strider, removing his spectacles to polish off some soot. 

            Karkat let the ball dissipate.  The injury on his shoulder was barely a sting, and he’d been willing to evaporate Strider over it.  Well, the other boy _had_ thrown him out a window, but still.

            “Alright, you can cast when you’re angry enough, but then you’re too angry to be useful at all.  You’re like bringing a twelve-pounder to a quail hunt.  What we need to focus on is getting you under control.”  He took off his coat and spread it out on the snow.  It was very baggy and served just as well as a blanket.  “Try to hit me with some little shots like I was using just now.  Come on.”

            “I’m not angry anymore,” said Karkat.

            “I can wait,” Strider assured him. 

 

            They waited about an hour, by which point Karkat’s frustration at both his inability to do such a simple task and his frustration at the growing cold and the dark allowed him to fire off a crackling bolt of light the thickness of a tree trunk—

            Which Strider deflected with ease by using his sword as a lightning rod.  “That would probably not have killed me, but I wouldn’t have called it living.”  He stood up, stretching.  “Let’s go back inside you killing machine.  Tomorrow I’m going to teach you something that’ll help you concentrate.”

 

            Karkat roared as he swung the practice sword in a vicious downward arc that would have easily cracked Strider’s skull if the other boy hadn’t turned it aside with a lazy twitch of his wrist.  “I think I understand your technique now Vantas,” he said, yawning.  “You grunt like an animal to throw me off guard, much the same way I taunt people to get them to make the wrong first move.  Except, my technique is backed up by actual skill and reflexes and intelligence and good looks, whereas yours is based on impatience and self-loathing.”  He then jabbed Karkat three times in rapid succession in the chest, using his scar as a target.

            “Fuck you Strider!” Karkat shouted, eyes flashing, swinging with such ferocity that both their swords shattered into splinters, pricking his bare chest.

            “Woohoo!  The point goes to Karkat!” said Nepeta, waving a little grey flag from her spot at the lion bench.

            “Keep going boys, we want to see you sweat!” shouted Calliope, sitting right next to her.  They giggled.  “Who do you think looks nicer shirtless?” she asked Nepeta.  They whispered at each other for a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter.

            “Now now girls,” David admonished, “Karkat altered gravity on that swing.  Whenever he uses magic, we take a point off.”

            “Oh, right,” said Nepeta, raising a red flag instead.

            “Dammit!  How many does that leave me with? Like twelve right?” Karkat asked tentatively.

            Calliope checked her notebook.  “No, David has twelve.  You have fifteen!”

            Karkat pumped his fist.  “Yes!”

            “Oh, sorry, my mistake,” she corrected, reading it again.  “Minus fifteen!”

            Karkat slapped his forehead.

            “Now pull out the _big_ swords!” Calliope shouted, a mad glint in her eye and a slight flush to her cheeks.

            “Why did these girls specifically have to be here?” asked Karkat, rolling his eyes.

            “Bloody fuck Vantas, we are working on your self control.  There are a lot of stimuli going on here.  My insulting you, my exceeding superiority over you, the girls making googley eyes at your scar, et cetera.  You need to be able to _not_ use magic just because you’re frustrated.”  He put his hand on Karkat’s shoulder and looked at him over the lenses of his spectacles until Karkat felt incredibly uncomfortable.  “I believe in you.”

            “Oh God in heaven take me now!” Calliope shouted, now quite flushed.  “Hold me Nepeta, I’m going to faint!” She laid down on the other girl’s lap fanning herself while Nepeta pounded on the bench, laughing.

            “Okay,” said Karkat, pushing him away.  “What the fuck was that?”

            “Oh that was just for the ladies,” he said, winking at Nepeta, who merely roared with laughter.

            “I want you to die.”

 

            Feferi was stillborn five times.

            Feferi died of starvation four times, twice as a newborn, and twice as a child.

            Feferi was beaten to death twice.

            Feferi did not survive the trials of the brooding caverns twice.

            Feferi was eaten by a dingo once.

            Feferi was chosen from a young age, given every luxury but no freedom, not even to speak or behold the light of day.  The people loved her.  Upon reaching menarche she was made into a god.  The people love her still, and worship at her gravesite.

            Feferi reached adolescence, grew up surrounded by friends, and was happy.  She had a great and noble destiny ahead of her.  She found love.  She was murdered by someone she thought had loved her.

            Feferi reached adolescence, grew up surrounded by hatred and intolerance, and was filled with anger.  She wanted nothing more than to have a destiny.  She found a cause.  She was executed by firing squad singing _The Battle Hymn of the Republic_ , and her face is on the three-dollar bill.

            The Earth was destroyed.  Feferi was on it.  How sad.

            Feferi destroyed the earth.  As she laughed, her heir stuck her with a fork.  She was quite done.

            She was stillborn once more, but nineteen instances of her across the totality of existence died at the exact same time, and due to her auspicious bloodline, their energy flowed into her tiny body and stained her eyes pink, and after an hour of being dead she finally started to cry.  It was a miracle, they said, a sign of God’s magnanimity, signed with tyrian ink.  She was the most powerful Pink mage ever born, though her tiny fishing village wouldn’t know it.

            She liked blowing bubbles in her milk.  She was doing that when Jakob came and sat with her.  No one else ever did, aside from Jade when she’d still been here.  Now she usually ate with Sollux and Aradia, but they were very busy in the greenhouse, and she didn’t want to be a nuisance.  “Good morrow fair maiden,” Jakob said.  She loved the way he talked, it was so funny.  “How goes the production?”

            Feferi shrugged.  “I don’t really help those two with that kind of thing.  I’m not really smart like they are.  Mostly I just get them things that they shouldn’t have.”

            “You shouldst not sell yourself short,” he insisted.  “You are in power exemplary, in kindness extraordinary, and in action like an angel.”

            Feferi pinched his cheek.  “You are going to be such a heartbreaker when you grow up, Jake!”  His glasses fogged up, clearly not having expected this reaction.

            Clearing his throat, he said “Well, when you see them, tell them that I need the guns much sooner than I had thought.  I’ll double your pay.”  He ran off, and she giggled.

**Week V**

_Guns_.  Lots and lots of guns, firing at once.  Multiple times.  That was what Jakob needed to focus on now, not pretty girls.  Touching his face.  He had important work to do.  Abraxas had said so, and had always been saying so for as long as he could remember.

            Jakob had never seen his patron spirit, though His voice had been a constant presence.  SHOULDST I STIR FROM MY SEAT ‘TWOULD SHAKE THE VERY FORMLESS VOID OF CREATION TO ITS FOUNDATIONS, He assured, mighty voice trembling through eternity to reach Jakob, though only he could hear it out of all humanity.

            “I’m well aware chum, er, Chum,” Jakob said.  Somehow He could tell when Jakob didn’t capitalize.  Demiurges made rather excellent patron spirits, but they were also rather prim and proper.  One had to mind one’s CHIs and RHOs.  “We’ve conversed thusly before.  On a multitude of occasions.  You are incredibly powerful.”

            SOON THOU SHALT BE FACED WITH A CHOICE MY SON.  Two sentences!  Abraxas was getting chatty, and Jakob was getting dizzy with the pounding of His primordial tones.  He stopped heading for greenhouse and sat down against a stone pillar, waiting for Abraxas to finish.  THIS IMPERFECT CREATION STANDS UPON A PRECIPICE AND THOU SHALT DECIDE.  Well this was new, Jakob thought.  Mostly the eldritch windbag only spoke up to remind Jakob he—sorry He was still there.  THOU SHALT IGNORE THY BASE URGES.  THY DUTY FAR EXCEEDS THAT OF THINE BIOLOGICAL IMPARATIVE.

            “So you’re saying I shouldst ignore the charms of the fairer sex and focus on my work?” Jakob asked, irritated.  He was so difficult to talk to sometimes.  “I know you’re not supposed to ‘interfere’, though it seems that you just like being obtuse more than anything, but can you at least tell me when I will have to make this auspicious decision?”

            Abraxas paused a moment in thought.  VERY, VERY SOON.

            Jakob nodded.  That’s what he was preparing for, or so he hoped.  A thought occurred.  “Abraxas, are you God?”

            There was a brief pause.  I AM FAR BEYOND YOUR HUMAN CONCEPTION OF GOD AND GODS.

            Jakob blew a raspberry.  “That’s not an answer!”

            Abraxas groaned irritably, a sound that almost knocked Jakob off his perch.  IT IS THE ONLY REASONABLE ANSWER THAT WOULD NOT REND THY DELICATE FORM ASSUNDER.  MY TRUE NATURE AND TRUE FORM ARE BEYOND COMPREHENSION.  BUT IF THOU ASKETH IF I AM THE BEING WHO CREATED YOUR WORLD, THEN THE ANSWER IS NO.  I AM NOT THY PROGENITOR.  I…WAS AWAY AT THE TIME.  THIS WORLD WOULD SURELY HAVE BEEN FREE OF ALL TOIL AND SUFFERING HAD I BEEN PRESENT AT ITS INCEPTION.

            Jakob’s nose was starting to bleed.  They’d been talking entirely too long.  “Abraxas,” he warned, holding up a handkerchief.

            OH, OF COURSE. IT WOULD NOT DO TO HAVE MY REPRESENTATIVE DIE BEFORE HE CAN FULFILL HIS DUTY.

            Jakob slumped over in his seat, feeling drowsy.  “Please, shut up,” he said in his native Greek, too tired to keep affecting English.

            …JUST REMEMBER, I CAN TAKE NO PART.  I AM BALANCE IN ALL THINGS.  NEITHER GOOD NOR EVIL, BUT BOTH, AND NEITHER.  THAT IS WHY THOU MUST CHOOSE IN MY STEAD.

            Jakob passed out.

            WELL SHIT.

 

            A short while later, a bloodied Jakob stumbled into the greenhouse.  “Oh fuck, what happened?”  Asked Sollux, as he and Aradia rushed over to him and helped him to a seat. 

            He grinned, showing off bloody teeth.  “No need to worry friends, I shall be quite alright within the hour.  I just came to check on your progress.”   Aradia wiped his face with a wet towel.

            “You are not well Jakob,” she said tersely.  “Who did this to you?”

            He laughed.  “I suppose it would not due to have your sponsor die of blood loss before he can pay you, eh?”

            Aradia frowned.  “We do care about you Jakob.  Isn’t that right Sollux?”

            He ran a finger through his hair.  “Um, yeah.  Totally.”

            “You’re terrible, Sollux,” she said.  Turning back to Jakob, “It was that brother of yours wasn’t it?”

            Jakob sputtered, spraying a fresh stream of blood onto her dress.  “Of course not!  Caliborn has never laid a hand on me,” he said, shaking his head emphatically.  He hated being the youngest student at school; all the girls felt the need to mother him.  It was only a year’s difference!  He added, “You wouldn’t understand what actually happened.  Please, let’s just see what you’ve done!”

            Aradia gave a sigh of frustration, but nodded.  “Sollux, fetch the prototype.”

            He stalked off towards the back of the greenhouse, muttering about taking orders.  He came back with a metal box.  “Now draw the curtains, we don’t need anyone seeing this.”

            Sollux rolled his odd-eyes, turning on his heel and heading for a mechanism on the wall that hadn’t been there before.  Almost instantly, heavy black curtains sprang from some hidden compartment and cover every glass surface, leaving them in total darkness.  Aradia conjured a ball of red light.  Sollux opened the box and pulled out the prototype.  Jakob leapt for joy.

            The pistol by and large resembled a standard flintlock, except for the mass of gears above the grip.  These were manipulated by hand to move the slide, an apparatus shaped something like an over-large harmonica, but with six holes large enough to fit pistol rounds.  There were a few arranged around the weapon, each inside a special case with black powder already in it.  It was the only way to make sure the substance didn’t fall out and go to waste.  “We had to make some major changes,” Sollux began to explain, just as Aradia said “We only made a few minor changes to your original design.”

            “We completely reworked the barrel—”

            “We added an inch in length to the barrel and rifled the interior—”

            “More or less re-imagined the slide—”

            “I put the slide in vertically instead of horizontally like you wanted to make it more compact—”

            “Just scrapped your original controls really—”

            “Added this lever to switch to the next chamber instead of doing it by hand—”

            Jakob ignored them and loaded the weapon.  “Um, are you sure you should be playing with that?” said Sollux nervously.

            “He paid us to build it for him Sollux, what did you think he was going to do with it?”

            “I need a target,” said Jakob.  Sollux sighed and grabbed a scarecrow from the corner, setting it up about in the center of the greenhouse, and then sat down off to the side.  “Wait shit, we’re in a greenhouse—”

            _*BANG*BANG*BANG*BANG*BANG*BANG*_

            The top half of the scarecrow sagged towards the ground, it supporting stick severed by a flurry of bullets.  Jakob blew the smoke away.  “There is nothing quite so lovely as the sensation of inflicting such utter destruction with the twitch of one’s finger!”  He turned to Aradia and flashed a winning smile.  “Can you build me another one by the end of the week?  I’ll double your money.  It seems we’re in more of a hurry than I thought.”

            She raised an eyebrow.  “Whatever do you mean?”

 

            Exhausted, Karkat sat down to watch the day pass by through the huge bay windows, a panorama of perfectly balanced white and blue.  He hoped that Strider wouldn’t choose this moment to morph in out of the shadows and assault him.  While it was true that he now had a much better grasp of his powers, he was quite certain that he did, in fact, hate the other man now, instead of merely disliking him.  Still, it was nice not having to burst a blood-vessel just to conjure up some bloody sparks.  And he hadn’t had memory problems since the third day.  Of course, now using magic made him dizzy.  Trading one block for another?  Or maybe soon he’d just get over it.

            “Hey Karkles,” said Terezi, plopping down beside him.  “Long time no smell.”

            “Oh God, no, what do you want?” he said with an exasperated groan.

            “You know, it was in this very hallway,” she said, ignoring him, “that I told Jade not to go out with you guys that night?  Somehow she ended up out there anyway.  At least she wasn’t killed like the first time.”

            Karkat growled.  ‘Don’t talk about Jade—”

            “Or you’ll what?  You’d never hit a girl, I bet,” she said, leaning against his shoulder.

            “What are you doing?  Get off!” she held on tight, grinning.

            “All the ladies want you Karkat!  You’re a very handsome man!  You know Damara?  You’re the only person she asks to have threesomes with.” she cackled as he tried to pry her off.  “You and me.  Hey, let’s go find her!”

            Flushing a brighter shade of crimson than he ever had before, Karkat shouted “You can’t even see!”

            “Of course I can, it just doesn’t do me any good.  But I can see inside other people’s minds and the general consensus is that you’re a seven and a half.  Good looking, not great,” she squeezed his arm until she cut off the circulation.  “But the fact that you’re going to run away tonight and rescue Jade adds two whole extra points, you sexy beast,” she cackled.

            Karkat paled.  “How the fuck do you even know that I’m planning to rescue Jade?”  He also wondered why she thought he was going to leave tonight; Karkat knew he was nowhere near ready.  He didn’t even have any supplies laid aside.

            Fixing her blindfold, she snorted.  “Karkat, I just fucking know everything, okay?  Do you want me to explain to you _how_ I know everything?”

            “It would be useful!”

            Terezi tossed her head.  “I do that because people can’t see me rolling my eyes.  You want to know?  Fine!”  Terezi produced a tiny silver bell.  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”  She rang it.

 

            Standing on a white plane, surrounded by blackness on all sides, Karkat heard Terezi’s voice.  “Wake up Clotho!  Someone wants to meet you.”  And then there was light.  An enormous eye hung in the air above Karkat, shining and black, with a ring of burning silver around it.  As his eyes adjusted, he saw the face of a gargantuan dragon, and that the blackness around him was its scaly skin.  It wasn’t pure black, he realized, but a myriad colors.  He also realized that the white plane was in fact the dragon’s belly.  He screamed.

            “Don’t make noise!” Terezi chastised.  “She doesn’t like that.”  Karkat forced his mouth shut.  He heard a sound like hollow booming or clicking.  The dragon shifted its head, turning its bulk to look at him face to face.  “I think she likes you!”

            “Where are you?  Take me back!”

            “Hush,” said Terezi, appearing in front of him so suddenly that he jumped.  “Clotho is the goddess of beginnings.  She knows everything, all that once was and all that will be!  She spends her time here, deciding things.  Who will be born, and when, and why.  Her sisters decide how long you live and how you’ll die, but she’s the most important one,” Terezi got down on the ground and hugged it.  The sound started again.  Karkat realized the dragon was purring.

            The impossibly huge head loomed closer until he could feel the hot breath steaming from her nostrils.  She inhaled his scent, almost knocking him over, and then stuck out a long white tongue and licked his entire front side.

 

            Karkat saw a hundred thousand things at once.  The beginnings of a hundred thousand journeys.  The launching of a thousand ships.  A man in white heading off into the desert.  A very short, very fat creature dashing off down the road.  A burst of fire so massive it propelled what seemed a gigantic white spear into the sky.  A young man looking up at twin suns.  A young boy standing in his room, awaiting a name.  His own would begin tonight.  He would go west.  So Clotho had decreed.

           

            “Sweet Jesus,” Karkat said, sitting by the window once more.  “Did that even fucking happen?”  He felt his face, chest and hands, and they were at their usual state of not-covered in deific slobber.

            “Yup,” said Terezi, making him jump again.  “You are such a craven little coward.  I have no idea what Jade sees in you.  Let me get a look at you,” she said, pulling down her blindfold.  Her eyes were very dark brown, almost black, which surprised Karkat since most people he’d met had something resembling their magic Color for their eye-color.  Her eyes didn’t stare straight ahead like a blind person’s would, instead jumping and twitching everywhere in an erratic fashion.  There was a tiny cluster of seven scars nestled between them.  “See that mark?” she asked.  He nodded.  “Do you see it?” she repeated.

            “Yes!”

            “Keep an eye out for it when you leave, okay?”  Karkat acquiesced.

            Terezi replaced her blindfold and stood up.  “Have fun Karkles, it was nice knowing you!” she walked away.

            “Wait!  Do you want to come?” he asked.  “You…fucking know the future, that would be incredibly useful on this journey!  All I know is I have to go west!”

            Terezi cackled maniacally.  “It’s just like the Questing Beast, Karkat!  It wouldn’t be any fun knowing where everything is!  In fact I’m mad Clotho even told you what direction to go.  _West_ , honestly, so many nicer directions.”  She turned and waved good-bye.  “We’re probably never going to see each other again, by the way, so have a nice life.”

            Karkat sputtered.  “Why the Hell not?’

            Terezi stared at him, or at least that’s how it felt.  She grinned.  “Because I have to go take a walk in the river.”  She laughed at the confused expression on his face and left.

            A few minutes later Strider morphed in out of the shadows and pushed him out the window again.

 

            After fighting him off, Karkat spent the rest of the day scrounging for supplies.  He had the brilliant idea to ask Feferi to get him some food, on the premise that he was planning on throwing another party but wanted to taste the food first, to prevent another green cake incident.  He managed to exploit some rope, climbing gear, and a new coat off of Equius.  The thing was a dull grey and slightly too big for him, but it suited his purposes just fine.

            He smuggled it all into the basement to keep Eridan from finding it.  As he did so, he was approached by Gamzee.  “Karkat my favorite motherfucker, whatcha up to?”

            Karkat was holding a massive bundle of food, spare clothing, rope, matches, and mountain climbing gear all poorly wrapped up in a worn black cloak, trying to cram the mass into a broom closet with both hands and one foot.  “Nothing,” he said.

            Gamzee nodded.  “That’s motherfuckin’ wonderful.  I like doing nothing too, just rusticating wherever and lookin’ at shit.”  Karkat nodded awkwardly before giving the bundle one final kick, squeezing it through the door.  “Oh shit, Karkat, I forgot, I made you a get well present.”  Gamzee went into the broom closet, stepping over the bundle, which had come undone and spilled out a mess of rope and dry biscuits, and rummaged around for a minute.  He came back holding a silvery-grey vest.  “This shit’s made outa spider-cloth, just like Tavros’s scarf.  It feels like fuckin’ miracles on your skin.  In cloth form.”

            Karkat accepted the vest with gratitude.  “You know what Gamzee, I always thought you were an insane, alcoholic bigot who was probably going to snap one day and kill everyone.  But now, I realize that in addition to all of those things, you are also my friend.”  He gave him a firm handshake, which Gamzee turned into an overly-long hug.

            Karkat also made a point of being nicer to his friends for the rest of the day, whenever he actually interacted with them.  He had a talk with Tavros about his self-esteem.  “Write me a goddamn list of everything about you that is worthwhile, and if there are fewer than ten things, I will throw the difference at you in rocks.”  He spent a good half-hour looking for something to give Nepeta, still not really willing to face her.  He found he had a copy of _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ ; he wrote her a note of apology on the last page and left it with Feferi, her roommate.  Karkat then spent another hour talking to Calliope about how to improve the romance between Girtab and Peter.  “Right after Zibana stabs her, she writes him a fucking letter where she confesses her feelings.  But she doesn’t act like it’s her fucking will or anything, she assures him they’re gonna meet up again, to give him something to fight for. Then she sends it and you just draw her bleeding out on the floor.  Meanwhile Peter gets the damn thing in the future and writes back about how he feels the same way,” he crossed his arms and grinned evilly. “And he never finds out until he’s gotten over her, bitter over the lack of a reply.”

            Calliope’s jaw dropped.  “But that would….break everyone’s heart forever!”  She hugged him.  “Thank you!”

            He spent the last hour of daylight with Kanaya, watching the sunset.  “You’re being awfully nice today,” she commented.

            He shrugged.  “Apparently near-death experiences make people nicer.  It wears off within two weeks though, so I should be back to my normal levels of assholery in a few minutes.”

            She laughed, then looked a bit troubled.  “Father hasn’t visited yet.  It’s been almost two months.”

            “No,” Karkat insisted.  “A month and two weeks.  I remember once he was gone for three months and you gave him such a verbal beatdown.  I didn’t even know you had the lung capacity, your voice is so small normally.”

            She giggled.  “That was right after you moved in!  I didn’t know you had such a good memory of those days.”

            Karkat shrugged.  “I don’t like to think about those days very much.”  Very quietly, he continued.  “Honestly, I hated you both so much, I wanted to strangle you in your sleep.  I kept thinking, ‘why should _they_ be alive when—‘ and I could never finish the thought and it half-drove me insane.  It was like I had to learn to be human again.”  He started trembling.  “Can you imagine feeling like that at eight years old?” 

            Kanaya put an arm around him, sighing.  “Lay your head on my lap like you used to when I would calm you down.”

            “What?” he snapped.  “We haven’t done that in years.  We’re not kids anymore!”  Despite his protestations, a combination of very subtle yet firm muscle movements over the course of two minutes had his head on her lap.  She played with his hair and hummed a gentle tune.  “Cut it out,” he muttered, but his heart wasn’t in it.  He yawned.

            “Kanaya?” he said after several minutes, “have you ever been in love?”

            She flushed a little. “I would have to have done it quite recently, wouldn’t I have?”

            Karkat smirked.  “Right?  This damn place turned our whole world upside down.  I wish we could’ve just stayed in our crumbling old ruins, shouting at the cardinal directions.”  Kanaya chuckled.

            “But you Karkat?” she asked.  “You wouldn’t just ask that question out of nothing.  Who’s the lucky girl?”  She snapped her fingers.  “Calliope!  You two have been talking a lot recently.  Yes, you read her book and saw into her soul, or some such romantic nonsense.”

            Karkat laughed out loud.  “No way!  What?  That makes no sense.  You’ve gone completely mad, there’s no hope for this conversation anymore and I’m in love with Jade Harley.”

            Kanaya paused for about a minute.  “The missing girl?”  Karkat nodded.  “Well, when two people go through trauma together, they tend to bond.”

            “It probably started that way,” said Karkat, “I would dream about her, and berate myself for being unable to do anything, but we’ve been talking since then.”  He then proceeded to tell her everything, about his dreams, Redglare, Terezi, his promise to rescue her, excluding no details.  “I’m leaving tonight.”  He expected her to tell him not to go, tell him that Redglare was right, to cry, even.  He did not expect her to slap him in the face.

            “Karkat don’t be an idiot,” she said looking at him sternly.  “It’s not worth risking your life over an infatuation.  Wait for Father to arrive; he’ll convince Redglare to help you.  Hell, he’s probably out saving her right now!  You know what he’s like—”

            Karkat sat up and hugged his sister.  “If I don’t do this, I don’t know how I’ll live with myself,” he whispered.  “Besides, it’s destiny.  You don’t argue with a dragon that big.”

 

            Midnight.  It was now officially Monday morning.

**Week VI**

            Karkat snuck out of his room and into the basement, dressed in his splendid vest and his ragged coat.  He gathered up his supplies, threw the old cloak around himself, secured his tricorne, and set off—

            Jakob and Eridan were waiting for him at the door.  “Good even, Sir Karkat!”  Jakob whispered as loudly as possible with a cheerful wave.  He was dressed in his characteristic white, but with a forest green hooded cloak, and a pair of enormous guns at his hip.  Eridan slouched against the wall, wearing the traveling clothes he’d had on the first day, a black striped suit and a heavy purple cloak with a very high collar.  “No one ever thinks to ask what I’m up to Kar,” he admonished.  “No one cares about how I think or feel on certain subjects.  Honestly it’s been quite humbling.  I came here far too big for my britches.”  He shook his head.  “All the same, shame on you, for not even _asking_ us along.”  He opened the great double-doors and a stream of cold flooded into the hall.  The moon actually was full, tonight. 

            “I’ve been busy too, you know,” Eridan continued.  “You thought I didn’t know about you and Jade?”

            Karkat muttered an apology, which Eridan waved away as he walked out into the snow.  “I’m a fickle bastard, it’s alright.  But you see a girl in your dreams and tear yourself up over getting her kidnapped, I know you well enough to know you’re going to do something about it.”

            “Wait,” Karkat said, sudden realization dawning as he shut the door behind them.  “How do you even know about that?  I only told Redglare—”

            “In actuality friend,” Jakob interrupted, “You also made the philosophy club privy to your secrets, and they are not known for their ability to keep secrets.  Gamzee told us everything without provocation, first about your situation and again when he saw you sequestering your supplies into the closet.”

            “So you’ve been conspiring to help me like two crazy people?” Karkat deadpanned.

            Eridan looked a bit embarrassed.  “Yes, but not together.  It seems we’re all three of us much too private.  Jake was informed by his patron that he would have to make an important decision soon, and thought it was the decision to follow you.  He used his family’s money to acquire supplies and his idea was essentially to stalk you until you were too far to send him back.”  Eridan rolled his eyes.  “I on the other hand, had always planned to meet you here at the door.  Oh, and don’t worry about talking to us.”  He produced a thing like a metal candle.  “Zahhak senior’s personal language field.  I stole it the other day.  It was very interesting.  Not that you’d care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Jegus, this chapter was actually difficult to write. I’d written a lovely Feferi bit, but realized that it would do nothing to impact the plot at this point, and these chapters have gotten unwieldy enough as they are. Then I chopped it up and wrote a segment where she interacted with Jake that was much longer than this one, but it felt too inorganic, and once again unwieldy. And I couldn’t get Abraxas’s voice right on first try. You know he’s basically God? Or that’s what the Gnostics said. Bluh.  
> Okay, anyone have an original female character that they’d be willing to lend me for the duration, to act as a potential love interest for Tavros? It has to be an original character because reasons. I’m not above making one up myself, but I have this weird thing where I think that if I do, then this will become an actual crossover with my stories that don’t even fucking exist yet, and the universe will collapse under the weight of my hubris. So yeah, I’ll wait till Monday for a response on that before writing the next chapter. Hehe.  
> And the girls sort of mother Jake, is what I was trying to convey here. When I made him younger than everyone else, I realized he couldn’t be the accidental Casanova that he is in canon. A year or two counts a lot in this age group, so they’d see him as this really cute little kid instead of the hottest boy at school. Wait ‘til you’re a bit older Jake….  
> You know which fandom would benefit most from the four quadrants? Harry Potter. If they had the quadrants, it would make all the biggest ships canon. Harry and Ginny are matesprits. Harry is auspisticising to Ron and Hermione through most of their school career, until they became red for each other and broke off the earlier arrangement. Harry and Luna have a lot of chemistry—pale chemistry. He’s so angry and she’s so damn serene. And of course Harry and Malfoy are kismeses. It makes perfect sense. Why am I talking about this? Well, it’s almost one AM, I’m tired. Love y’all.


	17. The "Oh Shit" Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA  
> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH  
> THE SHITTY TWIST --Caliborn

            Karkat, Jakob, and Eridan huddled together under a tree to shelter from the freezing rain.  It had been two weeks since leaving the Scholomance.  If the climb through the pass had been treacherous, the descent from the mountain had been overtly evil; they spent the entire first day hidden in a crack at the foot of the mountain waiting for Eridan to recover his strength from all the healing magic he’d had to do.  One of the school’s skyships had passed overhead on the third day, looking for them they had assumed, but it had just kept on going.  They never saw it turn back.  The next day they happened upon a village, and that’s where their true troubles began.

            They’d wanted to stay at the local inn.  “Good morrow kind sir,” Jakob had said to the innkeeper, and as he did so it occurred to Karkat that neither of them knew German.

            “So?” asked Eridan, “We have the language field.  No one should question some young gentlemen traveling the countryside—”

            Karkat slapped his forehead very audibly.  “Moron.  The language field makes people understand what you’re saying, it doesn’t translate.  When you speak in English, my brain just suddenly knows English, it doesn’t make me hear Romanian.  Everyone in this room is about to start freaking out about suddenly being fluent in three foreign languages.”

            Sure enough, they were chased out of town for infecting the populace with tongues.  “Bloody small-folk,” muttered Eridan as they sat around their tiny fire out in the woods, trying not to get caught while also not freezing. 

            Karkat snorted.  “Your goddamn Scottish accent scared everyone into thinking you were a demon.  Why do you have to hack up a lung on every ‘R’?  And what’s with your stutter now I think about it?”  Jakob giggled.  Eridan threw a rock at him.

            The next village was the same.  By the third village, Jakob had the brilliant idea to simply wait in the middle of the village green and write down what people were saying until he could formulate a list of German words for food and supplies. Unfortunately tiny mountain villages in Austria are not the most welcoming of places in the best of times, and here comes a heavily armed stranger trying to look inconspicuous while listening intently and randomly scribbling words.  Naturally, he was run out of town by an angry mob.

            “I did glean something that could mayhaps be valuable,” he said, once the trio had regained their breath.  “Many of these folk are terrified of a man they call the Blue Prophet.  Some say that, like a grim specter of doom, a man clad in the all the colors of the sky has been present at all of the recent calamities, accompanied by two sultry handmaids, spreading chaos and discord wherever they go.  Other say that he is trying to prevent a calamity, and that wherever he goes miracles happen, things that should be impossible even with magic.” 

            Eridan raised an eyebrow.  “Calamities?”

            Jakob nodded, looking serious.  “Aye, calamities.  He whispered into the ear of every nobleman in England, so they say, telling them to make a play for the crown.  He sold the King of France a diabolical weapon in exchange for his very soul.  Now here in Austria, the people in the cities are flocking to the streets, declaring him a harbinger of the end of days, the son of the devil, or the savior returned!”

            The two older boys considered for a moment. Eridan said “W-what fuckin’ good does that do us?!” unable to suppress his stutter in his rage, and Karkat declared “Dammit Anglika, I don’t want to hear any ghost stories that won’t put food in my belly, which is all of them!”  They then proceeded to rough him up.

            While Jakob proved himself to be an actually decent hunter, wildlife was much scarcer than the boys had been led to believe in books and stories.  What’s more, the weather was turning; the Scholomance begins instruction in late September, and it was now early November.  They’d been used to the chill up in the Scholomance, but they’d also been used to warm beds and shelter from the elements.  It all served to make Karkat irritable.  That, and the fact that he had dreamed with Jade, her actual self that is, a grand total of once since leaving the school.  Apparently it was hard to find him when he moved around so much.

            Karkat kept his eyes open for the sign, but was unsure what to do about it once he did.  Terezi hadn’t been clear on whether he should be actively seeking it out or avoiding it.  Either way, they never happened upon it, and in fact Karkat almost forgot it by the night spent huddled under the tree.

 

            Karkat was woken up by the sound of snapping twigs.  He leapt up, hand crackling with electricity—

            And saw a heavyset man in spectacles holding a knife to Jakob’s throat.  “Good even Karkat,” said the other boy, nervously.

            “Hello, little magician,” said the heavyset man.  He had a quiet voice.  “Now, these are troubling times and we’re all victims here.  See, few men turn bandit out of blind malice.  All it takes is one piss-poor day in a city overrun by cultists and sycophants to make such a life appealing, or indeed necessary.  Just hand over your valuables and I will release the boy.”

            Karkat growled, aiming his hand at the bandit’s head.  The man tsked, and gestured off into the trees.  Another half-dozen men were standing in the shadows, lit by the sputtering red glow of Karkat’s hand, holding rifles.  Karkat saw that many of them were dressed like scholars, and scared shitless.  He brandished his hand towards one and he shrank back.  The leader droned on.  “Your people write things down same as any men, and universities accept any books into their libraries as long as they’re free.  Tell me; can you really control metal?”  Karkat saw that the knife the man was holding was made of knapped flint.  The bandit winked at him.  “Always pays to be careful.  Now wake up your other friend, the one who snores like a furnace.”

            Karkat turned to do so—and stopped time.  He didn’t have nearly as much control over time as he did over electromagnetism, so he had to act quickly.  He turned and charged the man—

            Who rolled his eyes and pressed the knife tighter into Jakob’s neck, releasing a droplet of blood.  Karkat stopped and returned to normal time.  “Ah, that old gypsy wasn’t lying about her amulet’s potency.  I should apologize for slitting her throat.  Now if you’re done playing—”

            Someone shouted.

           

            John didn’t feel tired, so he walked through the night.  He was taking some time off from the dreary business of saving the world after the incident.  He traveled westward, alone now, trying to alleviate some of the damage he was doing.  Of course it was all for their own good, but that was no reason not to stop and say, pull someone out from under a runaway cart, or help put out a fire, or slip a beggar some coins.  The world had to get worse before it got better, but he’d try to make the transition go as smoothly as possible.

            He was wearing a green and black suit tonight, because frankly he’d been in a bit of a black mood since the incident.  Not only was Vriska’s leaving hard, but he was quite angry with Aranea, so he’d left her in Graz with a note explaining his actions.  All of this blue prophet nonsense, honestly.  She’d gone and infected everyone in Vienna with the idea that he was some sort of hero and it had spread like wildfire, so now he couldn’t even go out in public wearing his favorite color, not if he wanted to help people without someone recognizing his description and either trying to burn him or asking him to father their child.

            Off to the right, away from the beaten path and a ways into the woods, emerged a red glow.  John decided to investigate.  His father had taught him how to move quietly through the forest—he felt a pang thinking of how Vriska would taunt him about that.  More than that however, he felt interested.  And soon enough, he beheld an interesting sight.  A couple of boys—he laughed at himself, they were only a few years younger than he was—in the middle of being robbed.  The youngest was being held hostage, the oldest was asleep.  The middle one looked like he was busily trying to figure out a way to kill the bandit without harming his friend.  Oh, and he was using magic.  Quite powerful magic, actually.  It was a bold gang of bandits indeed that threatened magi.

            John crept up, quietly as he could, and grabbed one of the bandits.  They were all standing a ways apart from each other and paying more attention to the boys than to each other, so they didn’t notice him putting a stiletto in the man’s throat.  Well, the boy did.  John winked and gestured for him to keep quiet.  He slunk over to the next bandit in line—

            Who then turned his head to yawn and saw him.  See, amateurs are much better at keeping watch than professionals, thought John, as the fellow started screaming at his blood soaked visage, because they actually look in different directions.  John conjured his hammer from wherever it was it went when it wasn’t with him—he didn’t quite understand the mechanics of his stolen magicks—and shattered the bandit’s arm, the hammer releasing an electric blue charge as he did so, killing the man instantly. 

            The bandit’s gun went off as he dropped it to the ground, and then many things happened at once.  Behind John there was a flash of red light and a scream.  The gunshot finally managed to wake the sleeping boy, who jumped up and conjured a bright silvery fire with his rod, hurling it at random into the woods, where it splashed off the wet trees in a harmless but spectacular burst.  Then there was a flurry of gunfire the remaining bandits ran off.  John assumed that law enforcements had arrived, a lot of them, but saw only the hostage blowing the smoke off of a pair of very strange pistols.  He’d have to ask about that.

            The bandit who had been holding him hostage was in a smoking heap on the floor, clothes on fire.  “Hi,” said John, waving.

            “Salutations, brave sir!” said the younger boy just as the angry looking one asked, “Who the fuck are you?”

            “Peter Salt,” said John Egbert.  “And you?” 

            The prone bandit leader jumped up, tearing off his smoking coat, pulling a pistol and shooting the boy.  Even as he did so, John was burying the spike of his hammer into the bandit’s chest, unleashing a huge burst of lightning.  He dropped it as it hit home and ran to check on the boy, fearing the worst.

 

            “Jesus Christ Kar!  Get up you stupid sod!”  Karkat glared at Eridan, looming over him.

            “I’m not even unconscious, stop talking like Jeffrey,” he said, pushing himself into a seated position.  The stranger, Salt apparently, was kneeling next to Karkat.

            “You shouldn’t move,” he said.  He had an accent that sounded a bit familiar.  “I’ve been shot before; you need to stay still while we get the bullet—”

            “I’m fine,” Karkat growled, opening his coat up to reveal—

            A lead ball smashed to a crude lump against his spider-cloth vest.  “Spider silk is the strongest substance on Earth,” Karkat explained.  They all stared at him wide-eyed.  “What?  You guys didn’t know that?”

            “Not everyone can be raised by a Solomonar, Karkat,” said Eridan, slapping his forehead.

            Jakob was beaming.  “When we return to the Scholomance, I shall make a point to entertain Gamzee far more often.”

            “Wow, you were raised by a Solomonar?” asked Salt.  Karkat didn’t like him.  He seemed too bright and cheerful for the kind of man who just strolled through the woods alone dressed in such finery, and then killed three men without breaking a sweat, magic or no. 

            “None of your business,” said Karkat.  “Thanks for helping us or whatever, but we think we’ll be moving on now—”

            “Don’t be so hasty, Karkat!”  Jakob said.  “Master Salt could be incredibly useful in our journey.”  He turned to the older man.  “I am Jakob Anglika, that is the honorable Eridan Ampora, and this is Karkat Vantas.  Prithee, would you join our party?”

            Grinning, he said “I guess it depends on where you’re going—”

            “No!” Karkat shouted.  “We don’t know who this guy is—”

            “He’s right,” said Eridan, sitting down.  “Please, tell us about yourself—”

            Karkat groaned.  “That’s not at all what I meant—”

            “Well,” Salt began, flashing a winning smile, “You can call me Peter, to start with.  I was born in the British colonies to a small farming family.  I am a mage, self taught.  I’ve been traveling the world these past few years, taking in all the sights.  I like opera, I can play the organ, I write music but I’m not very good.  I’ve always been fond of games and riddles.  I’m told that I’m fun to be around, and I have all kinds of useful skills—”

            “Okay fine,” Karkat interrupted, “but how can you afford all of that?  How did you just happen to show up at the right time?” 

 

            “I married into money,” John lied.  “Well, not yet but someday.”

            The boy sputtered, making the funniest imaginable face as all these veins and tendons popped up.  Poor kid was going to worry himself into an early grave.  “That does not even _begin_ to make sense—”

            John laughed.  “I’ve been traveling with my fiancée and her sister, they're wealthy.” Well, it was mostly true; Vriska gambled and always won, and she had promised to marry him after she killed Redglare.  That was practically as good as a wedding date.  “We had a fight though and I walked away until she could cool off.  That was a couple of weeks ago,” he explained.  This was also partly true; he’d had a fight with Aranea although Vriska had already left by then.  In fact, John was certain that his truth to lie ratio was at least 9:1.

            The other boys seemed placated by his answer and started to talk to him, asking about this and that going on in the world, what life in the colonies was like, whether he’d heard about the blue prophet or any of that nonsense.  He almost laughed so many times that he was certain one of them would catch on and burst out “you must be him!” 

            Karkat however, just glared, until finally he burst out something completely different.  “YOU DO NOT STRIKE ME AS THE MARRYING KIND SIR.”

            The other two glared daggers him, offended on John’s behalf.  Karkat stood his ground, defiant.  John straitened his spectacles and rose to his feet, looming a full head and shoulders over the boy, who was a tad on the short side now he thought about it.  Just slightly, Karkat shrank back—

            As John doubled over from laughter.  After a solid minute, he straightened, wiping a tear from his eye, and said “do you know how often I get that?  It doesn’t even faze me anymore.”  He sat back down, chuckling.  “It’s the clothes, isn’t it?  Those girls basically treat me like their doll and they love to play dress-up.  I sort of like it by now!”  He looked around, as if finally realizing where he was.  “We should probably move away from here,” he said, looking at the bandit leader’s ruined corpse.

 

            Karkat watched Peter Salt as they packed up their things, leaving the dead bandits where they lay.  The man pulled his hammer out of the bandit leader.  It was four feet long and made of solid metal, with a huge curving spike like a vulture’s beak longer than a man’s hand and a hammerhead you could serve meals on.  He picked it up with one hand.  Karkat supposed it could be enchanted, as it disappeared as soon as it was in Salt’s grasp, but everything about the guy seemed stupidly suspicious.  Karkat knew Salt, if that was even his name, was lying about something.  He was clearly a terrible liar, but Karkat just didn’t know enough about him to tell what exactly he was lying about.  Maybe all of it.

            In a moment of absolute certainty, it hit him.  He snatched Jakob’s pistol and trained it on Salt.  “What’s your color?” he demanded, murder in his voice.

            “Karkat put down the fuckin’ gun,” Eridan shouted.  Karkat shot into the air then fiddled with the lever like he’d seen Jakob do.  “What’s your fucking color, Salt?”

            “Black,” he said.  “And White.  Jointly.”

            “Uh-huh,” said Karkat in a monotonous tone.  “Take off your fucking clothes.”

            “Karkat, please, he’s helping us—” Jakob implored.  Karkat glared at him until he looked away.

            Salt chuckled.  “After he goes and accuses me,” he said, removing his jacket.

            “Fuck you,” said Karkat.

            “You think I’m Blue don’t you?”  Karkat nodded.  “Well,” said Salt, “That’s easy enough to prove.”  He had an average build, but a lot of muscular definition, which was something of a nail in the coffin for Karkat’s theory, he thought, gritting his teeth.  He also had a lot of scars.  He’d clearly been in a great deal of fights, and had gotten stabbed and slashed at more times than Karkat wanted to think about.  There were even a few near-perfectly round scars on his back.  Gunshot wounds?  Karkat lowered the gun, embarrassed.  “Can I put my shirt back on?” asked Salt.

 

            Peter didn’t hold it against him.  “These are dark times, it’s right to be suspicious,” he said.  “Especially because everyone else would be so suspicious of you.  Two young gentlemen and a commoner, traveling together without an adult or any pack animals?  Too many questions,” he finished, just as their food arrived.  They were dining at an inn, in a small town, in an idyllic alpine valley full of windmills.  Wonderfully enough, Peter spoke fluent German, so they left it to him to do the talking; no more sleeping in the woods and being chased around by angry mobs for the boys. 

            The town had some name that tried to murder Karkat’s throat when he dared try to pronounce it.  The food was some sort of fried beef, with a mass of chopped bread and fruit for dessert, and was just as delicious in taste as it was unappealing in appearance.  Then he saw Peter wipe his mouth; the handkerchief was embroidered with six orbs in a circle around a seventh.

            Karkat felt a chill running down his spine.  The sign Terezi had shown him.  What should he do?  This was what he’d been looking for the entire time, but for what?  Was he right about Peter?  He didn’t have spikes, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous by any means.  But he’d been so damn _helpful_.  As much as his attitude annoyed Karkat, Peter seemed to be a genuinely good guy.  He acted as if the four of them had known each other for years and it was frankly infectious.  By the end of the first day Karkat had slipped into calling him Peter instead of just Salt.  By the second he found that he actually _liked_ the bastard.  If it was a bad sign, what was a guy like _that_ doing with it?  He tried to think about what Terezi had said very carefully.  Terezi had the mark on her face.  If it was bad, she wouldn’t have meant it as a warning.  Was she in league with Peter somehow?  That seemed _highly_ unlikely.  Her mark was a scar.  Had she been ritually branded or something?  Who would do that?  Why hadn’t he thought about this before?  But if she had meant it as a warning, wouldn’t she have just warned him?  Her attitude was too flippant for him to think that it was a warning.  So maybe it was a trap?

            He looked at Peter.  Peter saw him and smiled.  Karkat grit his teeth and made his decision.  “Do you speak Romanian?”  Peter looked surprised, but nodded.  “Eridan, turn off the language barrier,” he said.  Eridan asked why around a mouthful of kaiserschmarrn.  “We need to talk without people hearing.”  Eridan shrugged and complied.  Jakob stared intently at them while pretending not to.

            “What is it you need to know?” asked Peter.

            “Actually,” said Karkat, “I want to tell you something.  I was told to look out for that sign on your handkerchief.”  Peter tensed slightly, clenching it in his hand. 

            “I’ve decided,” said Karkat, exhaling sharply, “to tell you what we’re really doing.”  Peter relaxed.  “There’s a girl—Yeah, I see you grinning, everyone fucking does that—anyway, Her name is Jade Harley and she was kidnapped.”   He knuckled his forehead as if struggling to say something.  “We’re trying to rescue her.”

            Peter suddenly looked very serious.  “Tell me more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did rock music just play in your heads?  
> Ah, so refreshing to see a new character who is cool and educated and original who can go toe-to-toe with magi and come out on top using only guile and intelligence—Oh no, everyone’s real favorite character (apparently) just caved in his chest with a medieval cavalry weapon. No seriously, everybody loves anti-hero John. I wanted you guys to hate me for making him the villain, honestly. Ah well.  
> Hah, I took a shot (pun intended?) at all the Johnkat shipping. I’m so funny.  
> Let’s talk about moral ambiguity. People say A Song of Ice and Fire has a lot of moral ambiguity, and before you say I’m awful for comparing myself to it, read what I actually say. I’ve only read the first book, so maybe it changes later on, but I honestly see clearly delineated heroes and villains. Likeable villains are still villains, and unlikeable villains are also still villains. None of the Lannisters or whoever actually seem to have a goal that isn’t ‘screw everyone over forever’ except Tyrion. While I can see potential for moral ambiguity later in the series, i.e. Tyrion having to choose between his family and morality, Whatever happens when Dany finally shows up demanding her throne back, so far, it’s pretty Black and White. Not that there’s anything wrong with that at all, I love the book, I’m just saying that moral ambiguity is something like what I’m doing where the antagonist actually has a valid point and the heroes’ actions might end up having worse consequences in the long run, and I used a well known franchise to make a point and now everyone misinterpreted me and is nailing straw effigies of me to sacred trees. Sorry.  
> I intentionally misled you as to this chapter’s contents. *Nelson appears* “HA-HA!” Still willing to accept an OC donation, but of course we can do without. I was so excited, I wrote this in one sitting (explaining its terribleness). Hmm, it seems we are missing a John chapter; it’s almost as if it were intentionally excised in order to mislead you further. Hmm. I had a terrible pun lined up, a contraction of John and a synonym for segment, but I can’t remember it. Oh, hey notice how you, the reader, have been equipped with all the knowledge that would make Karkat’s assessment of John completely wrong; John can use metal dust instead of spikes, etc., but Karkat has not been. Dramatic Irony. We're learning so much! Sweet Jesus, I know I had something else to talk about….


	18. Unfinished

            Redglare spent the night in quiet meditation.  _Four more students missing_.  This was quite possible the worst failure of her life.  She should have seen it coming.  Perhaps she should have been more clear with Karkat; every available mage was currently out looking for Jade Harley; the only problem being that there were only some twenty of them total and several she had already dispatched to keep the peace across Europe.  He didn’t understand that the Scholomance was the closest thing to a center of government that the magi had, and it fell to these twenty-something people to maintain order when one of their number went rogue, or some thrice-damned Blue mage stirred up trouble.

            She had spent the entire day tracking down Karkat’s friends, none of whom had provided any useful information. 

            Kanaya Maryam was inconsolable when she heard, it was clear she’d no knowledge of it. 

            Likewise the Anglika siblings were so distraught by the loss of their younger brother that they hugged.  It was most disconcerting, especially since Caliborn seemed to be trying to smell his sister’s hair as nonchalantly as possible.

            Nepeta Leijon expressed concern for the missing children but seemed to have forgotten who Karkat Vantas was.  When pressed further she ran away, and Redglare decided to let the matter go.

            The members of the philosophy club all presented various queries as to the nature of reality, stating that the missing children were not missing per se as they themselves almost certainly knew where they were.  This then degenerated into a discourse on language, because what does ‘here’ or ‘there’ or ‘missing’ or ‘glockenspiel’ even mean?  The fascinating thing is she interviewed them all separately.

            David Strider laughed at the idea that he was friends with any of the missing children, despite the insistence of his clique that he often spoke with Terezi Pyrope and had spent a great deal of time recently with Vantas, apparently practicing their magery together.  He shrugged and said he’d done that for the purpose of irony, and had purposefully taught Vantas the techniques incorrectly to screw with him. 

            Sollux Captor made it quite clear that he hated Karkat and had only gone to his recovery party because cake was involved.  He then made it quite clear that he loved Karkat like a brother and broke down weeping.  He then made it clear that he didn’t care about him one way or the other and assumed a stoic expression.  He then turned over his chair before apologizing profusely.

            Aradia Megido stared at Redglare until they both realized that they were wasting each other’s time. 

            Feferi Peixes swore she’d seen Eridan Ampora on the property, and led Redglare on a merry chase around the Scholomance, until she admitted that she’d seen him in the science building.  The Scholomance was only one building; she’d seen a quantum shadow of him from another potential reality. 

            By that time most of the day had passed; she had the Zahhak brothers search the grounds, but the younger one insisted that they were most certainly far beyond the mountain by now.

            Regardless, when the skyship appeared on the horizon at three in the morning, lit by tiny golden lamps, she was on her knees in her office looking out at the night sky.  _The Prospero_ , the Helmsman’s ship, returning from England.  As she stood up and walked over to the window to get a better look at it, she wondered what could possibly have driven a plantmage to fly—

            The ship exploded in a magnificent burst of green and white.

 

            Two hours later she, the Zahhak brothers, and the Pink instructor, the Countess von Herablassung, were sifting through the wreckage, looking for survivors in the high, frosted wind.  It had fortunately landed on the gently sloping side of the mountain, near where the children’s nighttime journey had ended.  “I don’t see why I’m here, soldier girl,” the regal looking woman said, suppressing an aristocratic yawn. No wonder the children called her the Condesce. Her hair writhed about like a living thing, moving against the high wind. 

            Redglare stared; that always seemed to work on insubordinate students.  The Condesce was a different creature though, and just smiled unamusedly.  “We need you to examine all of the possible ways in which the ship could have reasonably been destroyed.” 

            “Such a chore,” she said.  “We’ll need to reassemble it as well as we can manage—not here, somewhere _comfortable_.  And I’ll need my two students as well; this is not an easy task.”  Redglare nodded and gestured for the Zahhak brothers to begin their work.

            Horuss clicked his tongue as he examined the damage; he’d built the fleet of skyships all by hand, implementing all his knowledge of magic and machinery.  It clearly came as a personal blow to his ego to have one inexplicably explode, despite his ever-present grin.  Equius strode up to the massive clockwork engine and lifted it up with one hand. He nearly dropped it almost immediately upon seeing what was beneath it.  “There’s a child here.”

 

            Feferi didn’t want to be helping the Condesce reconstruct the accident.  She wanted to go gawk at the new girl.  Unfortunately she was doing the former.  The Zahhaks had reassembled, as best they could, all of the pieces of _The Prospero_ in the hanger, a very large wing of the castle that had likely been intended as a chapel, until Horuss knocked one of the walls down.  The frigid air, growing ever colder with every passing day, poured through the opening as Feferi examined the remains of the vessel.  It was just a pile of matchsticks now, arranged in the shape of a ship.  Some broken cogs and wheels were sprinkled throughout, with the great drum-shaped engine the center.  A few nick-nacks completed the set; a scrap of golden fabric, a lump of melted lamp.  Many of the things were spattered in a brownish red substance that Feferi hoped wasn’t blood but she knew probably was.  To distract herself, she whispered to Roxanne about her concerns.

            “Gah dammit Fefy, who cares about some wispy new kid anyway?”  Roxanne Lalonde was the only other Pink student in the Scholomance.  She was a bit of a bitch when she was hung over, which is to say fifty percent of the time.  “She’s just some nobody from nowhere that they picked up for no reason who survived for no reason and she’ll probably be out of our lives soon enough.”  She needed a taste of philosophy very soon, thought Feferi while suppressing a giggle.

            “Cut it out you two,” said the Condesce, “Just work on trying to read the damn thing’s history.  It’s just like rewriting, but you don’t do anything to it.  I know you can do it without my help, consider this today’s homework.”  She was sitting on a chair at the back of the room, leafing through a trashy romance novel.  She explicitly sought out the trashy ones.  The woman made Feferi sick, but dammit the three of them needed each other.  Being Pink was far from an excellent position to be in.  There were a lot of stories about them; that they were undead and unnatural.  That they were abominations with too many souls in one body.  That they were insane and talked to themselves and saw things that weren’t there.  It’s not that they weren’t there, Feferi thought sadly, it’s that she was the only one who could seen them.  The Condesce said that those people were just stupid and frightened, and almost certainly jealous.  Pink didn’t quite fit in with any natural laws of the world because they were not of the world, so she said, but beyond it, above it even.  It was really just its own kind of hate, but some days it gave Feferi the strength to go on.  And she hated it.

            Feferi conjured up all of her Threads, one for every other Feferi that had passed at the moment of her birh.  To non-Pinks they looked like tendrils or thorny vines, and strangely flat as if they didn’t have the necessary dimensions.  They just couldn’t comprehend the things; to Feferi’s eyes they looked like ribbons of blazing pink silk.  Roxanne conjured her own, though she had only three, and the girls began to prod the wreckage with them.

            The work was difficult because each component was starting to consider itself an individual rather than a part of a whole.  That’s why they’d started working as soon as it had been brought in to the hangar; the longer a thing is dismembered, the more it begins to be two or more things with much shorter histories.  Roxanne decided to pull in ghost images of the vessel, to help the pieces get reacquainted with themselves.  She was not quite successful however.  Her control wasn’t very fine, and she kept bringing in versions from worlds that were too different.  First the ship would become a schooner, then a junk, then a massive galleon that clipped through the floor and ceiling, leaving huge surges of pink light wherever it touched stone and probably scaring the shit out of anyone immediately above and below them.  “Let me,” said Feferi, just as a knock came at the door.

            The Condesce made a frustrated sound and rose from her chair, muttering about leaving her duchy to teach of all things.  Feferi and Roxanne gave each other significant looks, wishing she hadn’t left it either.  “You two shut up and keep at it.  Peixes, don’t let Lalonde do anything too important, she’ll just fuck it all up.”  Roxanne growled.  Feferi rolled her eyes.

            Soon, she was able to find a reality where _The Prospero_ was not completely destroyed but merely damaged.  Then came the long, arduous task of sifting through its history.  Although a phantom image of a thing could be pulled into their plane fairly easily, to change an object into another required looking back through its history and altering it at some point so it would eventually become what you wanted.  Feferi had found it much easier to simply snatch things out of other universes, but apparently no one else could do that, and so it was discouraged.  She was a freak among freaks, so it seemed.

            In the damaged-only reality, something had come very near the ship and suddenly exploded.  As the ship didn’t have any actual senses to create its memories, Feferi could only guess as to what.  It seemed that whatever it was, it may have actually been _on_ the ship and fallen off.  Had they been carrying explosives?  Why?  They needed to ask the new girl—

            Roxanne shouted, having never been a screamer.  “Holy shit!  Fefy, go get help!”  Feferi turned; the Condesce was lying in slowly spreading pool of her own blood.  She took a step—

            And felt the cold hardness of steel digging into the base of her neck.  Roxanne did scream this time.

           

            A young girl about fourteen lay in bed at the infirmary.  Very skinny.  Brown hair cut fairly short.  Light blue eyes.  Unassuming.  Very confused expression on her face.  “Your name,” asked Redglare, preparing to note it in her chart.

            “Minerva Weaver,” she answered, voice quiet.

            “Why were you aboard the ship?”

            “The men said that I had potential, and that they shouldn’t have overlooked me the first time,” she was terrified.  “They saw me doing the…”

            “Yes?” Redglare snapped.

            “The watery thing I do,” the girl finished lamely.

            Redglare nodded.  “What news of England?”

            The girl started, as if surprised about the latest question.  “The king was murdered in his bed.  The new king is a hundred times more awful….” She started to cry.  Redglare sighed.  “He has a sorcerer of some kind who can be in a hundred places all at once.  He’s been spreading his sphere of influence past London, crushing everything in his path.  Your men said they couldn’t defeat him and they needed help.”

            Redglare nodded again.  Minerva opened her mouth to continue, but just then that Cockney lout Broderick’s voice echoed up the stairwell and into the tiny room.  “Murder!  Murder!  Fookin’ murder!  All the Pinks is dead!”

 

            Feferi was not dead.  Well.  She was.  Sort of.  Just as her brain shut down, she was able to project her consciousness into a reality where she had not been fatally wounded, and pulled her new body back into her original plane of existence. 

            She stood gazing at her killer, who was looming over Roxanne’s prone form.  He was visibly startled to see Feferi materialize in a flash of pink, and the both watched her original body in fascination as it dissipated in a similar flash.  At least he’d had the foresight to wear a mask.  “You’re not very good at this are you?” she asked. 

            “Er,” he responded.  He was covered in blood and had an iron stake buried in his chest and another in his hand, polished to a faint cobalt sheen.  A Blue mage then.  Feferi rammed one of her Threads into his chest, launching him out the hangar entrance.  “Oops,” she said.  She hadn’t wanted to kill him, not out of some sense of morality but because she knew the best thing to do was to turn him over to Redglare for questioning.  Well, they’d have him soon enough.

 

            He got away, thought Redglare, tightening her grip on her rapier until she feared she might snap it off.  Jesus Christ he got away.  There was a killer on the loose on campus, on her watch.  Fortunately both of the girls survived, but the Condesce had not been so lucky.  Redglare realized that compounded with the kidnapping and the string of disappearances, she was clearly the worst assistant governor of the Scholomance ever, but regardless she had a duty to perform.  She almost summoned Pyralsprite to be comforted by his beatific presence, but no, that’s what she had done as a child when her training had gotten too much to bear.  She couldn’t resort to such things now, she thought sadly, hand on her golden bell.  Instead she uttered a brief prayer to Saint Michael, for war had come to the Scholomance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, remember over a month ago where I would fanboy out over every little milestone amount of hits this story was getting? Honestly, I still do like what the fuck y’all numbers go this high I don’t even thank you so much *cries*  
> And now the fic is apparently big enough to sustain itself hits-wise, as in it gets views even on days where I don’t update as opposed to getting them only for the first few hours after I do. Just wow, I don’t know what to say.  
> Finals were this week. I know I bitched out authors who use real life as an excuse not to write, but in my defense I did write something anyway, my shitty four-act parody play “This is the Way Homestuck Ends” and a creative imitation of James Joyce’s The Dead for a class. So hah. I guess that’s technically fanfiction; y’all wanna read it?  
> Hey how old are most of you? I’m assuming high school age, because in my freshman and sophomore years I spent most of my online time lurking on fanfiction sites and shit.  
> It seems the quality of my chapters is inversely proportional to my personal opinion of them once completed; this chapter was absolute shit, therefore you all love it. It’s so very short because I am so very drained and really just ran out of steam; I’ll probably update Trollish Layer this weekend and resume Azure Conspiracies fresh on Monday, possibly earlier.  
> As to the actual contents, I was going to leave you with a cliff-hanger concerning Feferi’s supposed death, but that would have made it far too short. Oh, and you may notice the title is a single word. You see, I lied. The second and final story-arcs will occur—simultaneously. This arc shall not be named, as its very name is a spoiler. Also, no one ended up lending me an OC. *takes a stiff, unsettling step forward, whispers* you were right not to *steps back as if nothing had happened*


	19. The Descending Chapter

            “Hell,” said Karkat, eyes bulging.  “She’s…in Hell?”

            Judging by his friend’s expression, Eridan decided that this was probably amazing, and promptly switched the language field back on. He and Jakob leaned in eagerly.

            Peter Salt leaned back in his chair.  “Nothing that drastic!  When I said the Underworld, that’s exactly what I meant.  It’s another world, occupying an entirely different plane of existence that just happens to be physically underneath this one.”

            “And you’ve been there before?”  Asked Eridan, incredulously.

            With a shrug, Peter said, “Once.  My sister-in-law took me there for…various reasons.  It’s pretty easy, once you know the trick to it.  How is it that a self-educated colonial rube knows more about this than some Scholomance trained kids like yourselves?”  He had that look on him again, thought Karkat, like he was laughing at some private joke.

            “We don’t pay attention in class,” Karkat snapped, “too busy hunting devilbeasts in the forest and witnessing kidnappings.  Now tell us how to get there!”

            Peter Salt laughed long and loud.  “The best thing is,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I can’t!”  Karkat slapped his forehead.

           

            Jade woke up, feeling miserable.   She was still locked in some sort of half-shifted form, and was unsure if she’d ever look normal again.  Her ears were useful, but they kept getting in the way. Her one wolfish eye, however, was incredibly sensitive to light while also diluting colors, giving everything a hazy grey outline.  The tail was fine, as it had had no occasion to wag so far.  She was hungry, as she had been for as long as she could remember.  No, just as long as she’d been here, wherever ‘here’ may be.  She pushed herself up, sitting on the stone slab that had been her only bed for ages, and looked around.

            Seated on a dozen thrones were a dozen figures, sleeping men of heroic proportions in gilded armor, equipped with broadswords and scepters so encrusted with gold and gems that they couldn’t possibly have had any practical use.  For all their wealth, however, the men were filthy, covered in the cobwebs and dust of ages, and had clearly gone ungroomed for untold eons, with their hair and beards spilling onto the floor.  One of them, an ancient looking man whose beard was the color of purest copper, mumbled in his sleep, eyes fluttering partly open.

            “Haben die Raben noch über meinem Berg fliegen?“ He asked, eyes fluttering open.

            “Huh?” Jade responded weakly.

            “Verdammt Englisch,” he muttered.  With a thick Teutonic accent; “do the ravens still fly above my mountain child?”

            “I don’t know—”

            “Then be off with you!” he roared.

            “How?”  Jade asked eagerly, jerking upright onto one elbow only for it not to take her weight.  By the time Jade was able to sit back up, he was already asleep.  “Ver…dammt….Ancient kings!” she muttered, struggling to her feet.  At least he’d taught her a new swear.  For the first time, she was awake while he captor was gone, and she needed to take this opportunity that might not come again—

            She fell to the ground, scraping her bare knees on the rough flagstones.  Oh, yeah, she thought, she was still wearing Karkat’s coat, and nothing else except for her wolfhide belt.  How long had it been?  The poor thing was now quite grubby with accumulated sweat and dirt, more grayish-maroon now than red, and felt rough on her skin.  She struggled to her feet and snatched a bejeweled scepter from a nearby slumbering monarch to use as a walking stick.  She almost called for Bec, and bit back a sob when she remembered that she could not.

            Jade shambled around the chamber.  As she moved, the claws on her feet made a familiar clicking sound.  Fortunately her hands and feet were still usable as such, stuck somewhere between human appendages and paws.  She figured she’d be able to move faster on all fours, but wouldn’t stoop to _that_ in the presence of royalty.  The room itself was vaguely circular, with four exits, each leading to identical chambers.  She had no fear of getting lost of course, since each one was full of somnambulant autocrats.  She did wonder if she would run out of synonyms for ‘sleeping kings’ however, but that was a risk she’d have to take.

            As to where _exactly_ she was, there wasn’t all that much mystery to it.  Dozing crowned-heads in some sort of hidden, underground cave?  If that didn’t tip her off, the getting scolded by Friedrich Barbarossa certainly did.  Clearly all the legends of kings-in-the-mountain awaiting their country’s darkest hour were true, but for economy’s sake they were all being kept in the same mountain.  Sure, that still left a whole lot of mountains in the world, but it was something.

            Each king had a scattering of offerings at their feet, left there by whoever it was had brought them down here in the first place.  Coins, flowers, incense, aromatic herbs, small carvings, weaponry.  It seemed there had been offerings of food at various times, but these had long since been eaten.  Not by the snoozing potentates, of course; from the droppings, ancient and crusted with white saltpeter, she could assume there were rats in here.  Nothing that would be of immediate use, of course.  Jade’s captor was very adept at Violet magic and would be able to prevent any attack, and she doubted she’d be able to bribe him.

            After about ten minutes of aimless wandering, she found a very primitive looking fellow whose kingly regalia was made of carved stone and animal parts, his throne of hide stretched over something like elephant tusks, but much more enormous.  She figured it would hopeless to try to identify him, as he’d probably been here since before recorded history.  His offerings however seemed to consist mostly of some yellow rock.  Jade picked one up and it crumbled slightly.  She sniffed it.  Sulfur. 

            “Why are you out of bed?”  The voice was pained and muffled, as if speaking through a mouthful of cotton.  Slowly, Jade turned.  Her jailer was a large man whose face was nearly identical to Eridan Ampora’s, except for the fact that it was contorted into a scowl of purest rage and untold pain.  Folded up against his back was a pair of black wings, signs of his mastery of Violet magic.  His clothing was spattered here and there with blood, and at first she’d wondered why he didn’t change out of it.  Then, she’d realized that he had, but the blood was always there, in the same place.  He must have experimented with Blue magic, and not been as successful as her brother.  He had yet to tell her his name or intentions.  Jade wasn’t afraid of him.  Sure he’d kidnapped her and murdered her best friend, but you can’t really be afraid of someone who looks nauseous all the time.  Hate them, sure, but not fear them.

            “Can I have some charcoal?”  She asked sweetly, ears drooping as if in submission.

            He blinked in surprise.  Through clenched teeth he muttered “What—?”

            “I like drawing,” she explained.  Well, she had liked drawing once.  Jade was certain she could get back in the habit.  “And could I get something a little more solid to eat than broth?  I’m very weak,” she said, accompanied by a sudden spasm of her knees that was only slightly exaggerated for effect.  Looking up at him embarrassedly, she said, “I promise I won’t try to run away.  I wouldn’t even know where to go.  Just please don’t put me to sleep again?”

            From the look on his face, an awful pained scowl, he might have been readying to shout at her, strike her, even kill her.  Instead he gave a stiff nod and walked away.  When he had gone completely, Jade breathed a sigh of relief, and then laughed a little to herself.  That had been too easy.  She wouldn’t run away.  If her plan worked, she would walk out of here.

 

            The sky above was a rich midnight blue with no stars.  The ground below seemed to be composed of luminescent cloud.  Windmills sprouted from it as regularly as trees; in fact he could see their roots, green with moss; their sails were spinning at random speeds in contradictory directions.  “I’m sure this says something about my psyche,” Said Karkat, “but I—I think I’ve done this joke before, actually.”

            “Karkat!”  A familiar voice called for the distance.  Jade was running to him across the cloudy field, with the brightest smile he’d ever seen on her.  She was still wearing the dress he’d dreamed up for her.

            “Happy to see me, eh?” he said as she reached him.  The wolf eye, the one that was all iris, seemed to glow and flash in the dim light.  Honestly, Karkat had grown used to Jade’s new form, as he’d barely known her before she assumed it.  He almost couldn’t imagine her any way else.

            “Sure,” she said, enveloping him in a surprisingly strong embrace that squeezed the breath out of him and made him color deeply.  “I love playing with you because you always turn such funny colors,” Jade giggled, letting him go.  “Actually, I was already in a good mood because of how smart I am.  You better hurry up and rescue me Karkat, or I might just end up freeing myself.”

            “Tch, yeah right,” Karkat said.  “If it were that easy, you’d have done it already.  Don’t worry, just let the big strong men handle this.”

            Jade crossed her arms in a dignified manner, an effect ruined by sticking her tongue out at Karkat.  “What ‘men’?  You and Eridan _barely_ qualify, and Anglika is like eleven or something.  The two-hundred year old accent does not _actually_ make him two hundred years old, Karkat.  Plus,” she added proudly, “I’m taller than all of you except Eridan.”

            Karkat blew a raspberry.  “Only children put stock in height like that.  And you’re only about an _inch_ taller.”

            “We’re fourteen Karkat,” Jade said, sounding infuriatingly reasonable.  “We _are_ children.”  She considered for a moment.  “At least, we’re only _baaaarely_ not children.”

            Karkat made an exasperated sound.  “I swear to God you are so annoying, I have no idea why I like you.”

            Jade gave him her most winning smile and he felt himself growing hotter.“Look at you changing color again, like a little chameleon!  But,” she said, sounding considerate, “I remember you danced with me that one time, when you gave me this dress, and you weren’t nearly this shy.  What’s happened?”

            He rubbed the back of his head.  “I was _really_ drunk.  On absinthe.”

            “Ah, _liquid_ courage, I see,” she tapped his nose.  Karkat made it rain.  Since the clouds were underneath them, the water flew straight upwards.

            “Do you like this?” he asked as she yelped in surprise and embarrassment, tightly wrapping the hem of her dress around her feet.   “It’s very refreshing, I think.”

            “Yes, you’re very clever,” she shouted, “Now make it stop!”

            “Whoa, Jade,” he said, pretending to not have heard her, “you turn funny colors too!  Who’d have thought it was a natural human reaction to embarrassing situations!  Like having cold water fall directly on—”

            “I swear to God if I had something to throw at you—” The rain stopped, and she was dried instantly by a gust of warm wind.

            “You’re not mad are you?”  Karkat asked, sounding worried. 

            Jade couldn’t help but laugh.  “I almost feel bad for getting you all flustered all the time.  But you’ve been my only friend these past few…however long it’s been.”  She gave him a much gentler hug, and he stiffened, surprised.  “Don’t even tell me how long it’s been.  I think I’d cry.”  Chuckling under her breath, she said, “You can hug me back, you know.”

            Gingerly, Karkat put his arms around her waist and the clouds took on a rose-tint.  This was the most physical contact they’d had, he thought, if you don’t consider the times he’d kissed her thinking it was only a dream, or the time she’d beaten him up and sat on him.  She’d also bitten him hard enough to draw blood once.  And surely she must have touched him in order to steal his coat—Jesus Christ, he thought, how starved for affection was Karkat that he had fallen in love with _this_ girl?  The clouds darkened.  “Friends, huh?” 

            In response, Jade sighed, stepped back, and kissed him chastely on the forehead.  “Consider that a maybe,” she said.  “Karkat, I,” little spots of pink appeared on her cheeks, “I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of your affections—”

            “You know,” he interrupted, “this whole time I was scared you thought I was taking advantage of you.”

            She laughed.  “How?  How would that even be a thing?”

            “Are you dense?  I could have refused to help you at all in exchange for….” he petered out to nothing.

            Jade raised eyebrow.  “Are you going to finish that sentence, Master Vantas?”

            He growled.  “This is stupid. Look, we’ve actually done something important.  We’ve found out where you are.”

            Nodding, she continued.  “I kind of suspect where I am.  Some cavern full of snoring tycoons—”

            Karkat interrupted with a flat “what.”

            “Just a little word game I was playing,” said Jade with a dismissive gesture.  “I meant sleeping kings, from legend.”

            Karkat nodded.  “It’s some mythical other-world.  Peter knows how to get in, but he’s being really tight-lipped about it.”

            Jade squinted, incredulous.  “Who’s Peter?”  Karkat briefly explained who the traveler was and how he’d come to join the group, while simultaneously conjuring furniture from the cloud-substance; two comfortable chairs and a small table loaded with tea and kaiserschmarrn _._  As usual, Jade became highly invested in the food, so much so that she had to ask him to repeat himself and clarify multiple times. 

            When Karkat had finally finished, Jade stared at him with half-lidded eyes, chewing her pastry pensively.  “It sounds very fishy to me,” she concluded, spearing another piece with her fork as if in punctuation.  “First of all, this guy just shows up out of nowhere—”

            “I already thought everything you’re about to think of,” snapped Karkat.  “I checked him to see if he was Blue.  I promise that it was stupid and embarrassing for everyone involved while simultaneously proving nothing!”  He drummed his fingers on the table, which made more of a soft thumping than anything else, trying to think of how to vocalize his thoughts.  “He’s not a bad person.  He’s annoying, yes.  He’s clearly hiding something, of course.  But, I really do think he’s trying to help us.  Peter has…a way about him.”  He stopped and thought.  “It’s hard to put into words.”

            “He’s charming,” said Jade.

            “Yeah.”

            “Charismatic?” she added.

            “I guess—”

            “Handsome, in an approachable sort of way,” she mused, unconsciously playing with a bit of her hair.

            “Okay,” said Karkat, “could you stop—”

            “Very fair skinned, hair so black light doesn’t escape its surface, a big blue eye like a clear summer sky, and a smile that makes you think, ‘everything’s going to be okay’, even when it’s not,” she added with a melancholy sigh.

            “Stop it,” Karkat snapped.  Crossing his arms, he said, “Apparently he’s so charming and charismatic and handsome that it’s working on you already!”  The clouds churned and blackened, although the ground felt as solid as ever.

            Jade groaned and smacked her forehead on the table.  “Ow,” she said, “How do you manage it _every time_?  But no, Karkat, I just described my _brother_ to you.”

            Karkat reeled as if struck; the clouds started flashing here and there with blue light.  “No way.  Peter can’t be…I checked him for spikes!”

            “They can move them, Karkat,” she explained.  “Even take them out.  But it’s my fault.  I should have told you about more him to begin with.”  Jade stood up.  “I’m sorry Karkat, but you can’t bring him where I am.  I can help myself now, I promise—”

            Karkat grabbed her hand as she turned to leave and the clouds began to swirl around the pair.  “You said blue _eye_.  He has _one eye_?” He asked.

            Jade blinked.  “Of course.  He wears an eyepatch.  If he took that one out, he would die.”

            “It’s not him,” Karkat argued.  “Peter has both eyes and they both work.  He wears glasses; that’s the extent of any damage.”

            “I’m sure he could fake it,” Jade argued, but she sounded unconvinced.

            “Did your brother have a gift for languages?”  Karkat asked.  In the distance, a windmill sank into the ground

            “Well, no—”

            “Was he uncommonly intelligent?”

            “About average, really—”

            “Because Peter speaks Romanian and German,” Karkat finished.  “Like a native.  You can’t just pick that up in what, three years?”

            Jade shook her head.  “Maybe with Blue magic though—”

            “Maybe,” Karkat conceded, letting go of her hand.  Jade sat back down.  “But aren’t Blue magi all supposed to be insane?  Tell me about the last time you saw him.”

            Jade inhaled deeply to steel herself, and began to tell her story.

 

            Jane and Jade had been alone for three days since John had run off to avenge their father.  Jade should have been able to stop him, but there had been that phrase, ‘our father’, that just made her feel dizzy.  This was her brother, and he _was_ her brother, behind closed doors, where the rest of the world couldn’t hear the great shame of the Egbert family.  Who was she to deny him anything?  She thought that’s how family worked.  He’d mussed her hair, called her ‘little sister’, promised to return, and ridden off on the shaggy white pony that looked more like a dog than anything.

            Jane had shouted at her, asking, “How could you have failed at this one thing?  You know he only listens to you!”  She went on to denounce Jade as her sister for, paradoxically, letting their brother go, and concluded by refusing to speak to her again for the rest of their natural lives.  Of course, they were still small, and alone, and the nights were dark and full of terror.  Jane had come crawling into Jade’s bed and apologized tearfully, and they spent the next three nights huddled together in it, waiting. 

            Jane was such a skeptic.  During the day, she’d rage around the house, making up wild accusations and leaping to conclusions.  “He abandoned us!  Both him and father!  They’re holding him ransom and the note will arrive any minute now!  No, he’s dead!”  She claimed to just be figuring things out, following the trails of evidence that John had left behind.  But there was nothing there, as far as Jade could see.  Nothing but a desperate longing to be a family again.

            The house was a small farming estate deep in the mountains at the very edge of English territory.  It was large, or at least the children thought so, and well maintained for all that the Egberts only had one servant, and she was family in all but name.  Jade knew how to tend the animals, and Jane how to cook, but neither could do much else, and on the third day Jade contemplated leaving to go to their grandfather’s, a good two day’s hike.  The old man had yet to hear the news about his son.  Jane was strongly against, of course.  How would John feel if he came home to an empty house?  Jade pointed out that she’d been certain he was dead only a few minutes before.  The argument lasted until they were too tired to continue it, and they finally went to sleep.

            John came home around midnight, stumbling like a drunk, blood trailing down his face from his ruined eye, a lump of bluely glinting metal protruding from the socket like a ghastly imitation.  His wonderful smile had become a forced rictus, clearly intended for their benefit more than anything although it seemed to pain him even more than his myriad injuries.  His hands were burnt an awful shade of red, and he left blood prints on everything he touched.  Jane rushed into his arms—

            Or would have if Jade hadn’t grabbed her sister by the hair, pulling her to the ground.  Jane understood now, Jade explained, but she was angry at her for months afterward.  And to this day, she wears her hair short.

            John was angry at Jade, and she was ashamed to admit that, thinking back, that was the absolute worst part of it all.  And then his bloody handprints had caught fire.  They left him there, having a heated argument with himself, as their childhood home burned down.

 

            “After that,” Jade concluded, voice carrying an awful tiredness, “he was always at the corner of my vision, dogging our steps.  Sure, he cleaned himself up a bit eventually.  Got a suit and an eye patch, but he was still that awful thing from that night.  Grandpa drove him away, eventually.  He was very powerful.”  Here she became just a bit wistful.  “We moved around a lot.  When it became apparent that I had talent, he slapped on the belt and shipped me off to the Scholomance, where due to sheer coincidence, I was snatched up by some Violet wizard with Blue enhancements and imprisoned with some, some….”

            “Slumbering Shahs?” Karkat concluded tentatively, trying to bring the mood back up.  The clouds calmed, slowly paling to silvery white.

            Jade smiled.  “Yeah.”  Then she sighed exaggeratedly.  “I guess that doesn’t sound a lot like Peter Salt does it?” 

            Karkat shook his head.  “I could conjure him for you,” he suggested.

            Jade slapped her forehead.  “That would have saved us so much time!”

 

            Karkat was jerked back into the waking world before he could, only to see the grinning face of Peter Salt looking down on him as the man shook him awake.  “We’re going for a stroll!”

            The party of four had left the unpronounceable village days before, led off into the wilderness on a long, slow, meandering path by Peter.  The ground was not yet thick with snow, but there were drifts here and there, and the trees were now twisted skeletons, bare of their leaves.  They spent the nights trying to kindle fires with the fallen leaves, now perpetually damp and half rotted from the frost, and what flames they stoked were always too small and dim, and they woke every morning with their joints stiff from the cold, feeling as they’d become old men while still young.  Even Jakob and Eridan, Peter’s staunchest supporters, were beginning to doubt.  “Come on boys, have I let you down yet?” He asked with a wink.  Somehow, in the night, he had produced a sitar.  “Can any of you play this?”

            Eridan sputtered.  “How did you even get that?  And why would any of us be able to play it?”

            “I understand music, like I’ve told you,” said Peter in a tone that indicated he was explaining even though he was only making them more confused, “but I can’t play strings to save my life.”

            Jakob raised his hand tentatively.  “I have some experience with the banjo.  That looks passing similar.”  Before he could even finish, Peter had foisted the thing onto him.

            “Excellent,” he said.  “Eridan, make some torches.  Karkat, couldn’t you conjure a sickle—?”

            Karkat nodded, flexing his hand as the heavy weapon was pulled together by crackling red light.  “It’s a trick I stole from Strider—”

            “I don’t know who that is,” said Peter.  “But is it made of pure iron?”

            “Yes!” Karkat shouted.  “What’s the point of all this?!”

            “Good,” he continued, ignoring him, “it’ll count as fire, too.  Very nice.”

            He shouldered his pack and set off down the road, gesturing for them to follow, singing a jaunty tune in Italian.  “I love your language field,” he said, shouting over his shoulder, “I finally know what the words mean!  Too bad I won’t get to take you all to an opera!”

            Stunned, the boys grabbed their stuff and ran after him.  “Why wouldn’t you, though?” Asked Eridan, sounding a bit hurt.

            Peter looked surprised, and then smiled again.  “Why can’t we take the field where people are, Eridan?”  The boy looked down, embarrassed.

            By noon, they came to a place deep in the woods that was somehow still green even this late in November.  The path ended here, or rather split off into smaller trails that had probably been made by animals.  A few yards ahead was a low hill, atop which were the ruins of an old stone building, possibly a church, whose walls were so thick with moss that at first they’d thought it was solid green.  “I believe we should retire,” said Jakob, “for an hour or two at least, before progressing.”

            “Not here,” said Eridan, wrapping his cloak tight around himself.  “This place is haunted or somethin’.  It’s unnatural at least.  Why should it be so green?  It’s even warmer than elsewhere I think.”

            Peter smirked.  “Some might say that’s a good thing.  That there might be fairies around.”

            “Cut it out,” Karkat said testily.  “Both of you.  Peter, that’s it, isn’t it?” he pointed at the church.  “That’s where we’re going.”

            In response, Peter led them up the very foot of the hill, and turned right.  Confused, the boys followed, as they had been doing.  Peter continued walking, whistling to himself.  It seemed like he was trying to keep himself distracted.  Rather than following the trail, he turned back towards the hill, making his way through the underbrush much more noisily than usual.  “Is there a back way in?”  Karkat asked.

            “I’m gonna have to ask you to keep your thoughts to yourself,” Peter said warningly.  “I’m sorry, but we can’t have you…giving it away.  We all know what books you like to read.”  Karkat raised an eyebrow.  Peter winked.

            It took them about an hour, but eventually they circled the hill, which was far rounder than it should have been, as if it hadn’t been quite…natural.  Karkat looked up at the church, and decided it didn’t look very much like a church at all.  He wondered if it might have changed somehow as they went around.

            “Shit,” Eridan spat, pointing straight ahead.  One thing had changed for sure; a doorway had been cut into the side of the hill, and set with a perfectly circular door painted a menacing red, locked with a heavy bronze bar.  John smiled and walked up to it, lifting the bar and throwing it aside.  The door swung open, revealing nothing but darkness.  “’Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came’,” said Peter.  “Or maybe ‘The Green Knight.’  That’s what you were thinking of, eh Karkat?”  He giggled like a schoolboy.  Wait.  Karkat was a schoolboy, _fuck_.

            “You see, you can’t go in if too many people know the path,” Peter explained, stepping through.  “Widdershins, once around a church, or three times around a barrow.  Luckily, we had both.”  It seemed as though he had disappeared into the black.  The boys followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad to be back. I love you AC, *kisses*. Oh, yeah, this fic has the same initials as canon!Nepeta’s trolltag, so clearly she’s secretly Blue and also the murderer.  
> It’s been so long! To be honest, I was a bit intimidated to get back into this fic. It was so hard to start, and so easy to finish. Well, it hasn’t been that long, in the grand scheme of things. I mean, who’s still waiting for “Not What We Planned On” to update?  
> Every time I try to set a schedule, I end up failing at it, but at least I keep writing. It was a bit hard to build up my momentum after the sorta-break, but I have this, a new fic, and several Trollish Layers to feed you all, so be happy. And I know, ‘what happened to the spin-off?’ It’s going to happen, I have it all planned out and it’ll be so very sexy, and I’ll start writing as soon as I finish one of the other fics I’m working on. Since Trollish Layer is never actually going to end, and Breath Waker is just beginning, it’ll be after Thief of Prospit.  
> Content-wise: Peter Salt has the same initials as Problem Sleuth, and in addition to sounding really fake and badass in a nerdy way, it’s the perfect pseudonym for any iteration of John to use. Jade being sensitive about her wolfness: I swear to God I thought of it before the update went up, although it happened on the exact same day.  
> Also, let’s give a big round of applause to the wonderful abnormallllll, my new alpha reader! Hopefully I’ll have fewer embarrassing spelling mistakes that you’re all too polite to tell me about (I misspelled embarrassing just now, meta-joke)! And a great big thank you to all the people who put up with this story from the beginning and waded through the wall-o-text first couple of chapters from before I knew how to format on this site. I’ll fix them….some day.


	20. Unattainable

            “She’s so weird,” said Roxy, her voice a whisper so loud it could be heard echoing down the hall from the infirmary.  “All jumpy and mousy.”  She giggled as if it were the funniest thing in the world, face flushed bright pink.

 

            “We’re not gonna bite!” Terezi announced.  She pulled down her crimson blindfold and winked a sightless eye, flashing her sharp little teeth.

 

            Equius failed to button up his shirt, blushing furiously.  “There’s a new student?”

            Damara stepped out of the broom closet behind him and helped.  “Yes,” she added disinterestedly, “English.  Not pretty.”  Then she glared.  “Tell her he belongs to Damara.”  The shirt became instantly damp.

 

            “It’s like she’s never seen a lesbian before,” Rose said with a toss of her head, before kissing Kanaya on briefly on the lips and wandering off.  The girl dropped the embroidery she had been working on, pale face slowly becoming beet red.  She sat the fuck down.

           

            “I’m sorry,” said Dave, “I can’t bring myself to care about the new girl when my boy’s out there trying the hardest anyone has ever tried to get into a lady’s knickers.”

            “We love you Dave!” shouted a crowd of fangirls that had spontaneously formed at the edges of the courtyard.

            “And I love you, ladies,” he said, winking over his spectacles.

            “Take your shirt off again!”

 

            “Foxy slunt she is,” said Broderick.

            Jeffrey smacked him.  “She has a beautiful personality.”  Broderick stared at his friend as if he did not even know the boy.  Jeffrey stormed off, muttering about tossers.

 

            “Is the new girl a slut?” Caliborn asked, wild-eyed.  “BECAUSE JESUS SHIT WHAT HAPPENED TO TAKING IT SLOW GIRLS THESE DAYS—”

 

            Nothing made anything resembling an iota of sense at this “Scholomance”.  Clearly every single person in attendance was completely insane.  “Hullo Minerva!”  The new girl jumped, heart nearly leaping out of her mouth.  It was that girl, Calliope; the short, curly silver hair made her look like a sheep.

            “Hello,” she wheezed.  Ever since arriving Minerva had been on edge, as if something in the atmosphere was choking her.  She gripped the little hempen bracelet on her wrist.  There was a shock of color zig-zagging through the piece, a single cord of the complicated weaving was made up of multi-colored strings; wheaty gold, coppery red, lustrous bronze, and a sort of dusty brown, like her own hair.  She looked back up at Calliope, her big green shining expectantly.  Minerva started to back up.  “I-I’m just going to leave if it’s all the same—”

            She heard a wretched sounding hiss, like someone throttling a cat, as the texture under her shoes changed from flat stone to human foot.  She turned and that frightening girl with the cat eyes who dressed like a boy was howling in pain; the hair on her head was standing up.  Minerva dropped to the floor and scurried away, resting her back against the stone wall, eyes grown huge and watery with the stress.

            The two other girls looked at her, gaping with mouths open as if observing a brand new animal whose obvious weaknesses made it too impossible to actually exist in the world.  “Are you…okay?” asked Leijon.  Minerva tried to speak but simply squeaked a response.

            “Do you need to go see Ms. Paint?” Calliope asked, getting down on one knee.  She stretched out a hand and looked Minerva in the eye, and Minerva became very interested in the floor.  “We can be your friends love,” Calliope said insistently.  “You just…need to keep an open mind and everything will be all better!”  She grinned hopefully.  “We can be very loyal if you plod through the initial weirdness.”

            Nepeta, meanwhile, was still standing, though with her small frame her full height was nothing like considerable.  Her head was tilted to the side and a small, kittenish smile was playing out across her face, blooming like a winter flower; cautiously optimistic.  She started to chuckle very quietly, it was a low throaty sound that was more like a purr than laughter, but decidedly mirthful sounding.  Which is why she was so confused at the look of horror on the new girl’s face when she finally took notice of Nepeta again.

            “I’m sorry,” Minerva squeaked, “I won’t do it again, I will watch where I’m going from now on and forever more please don’t hurt me—”

            Nepeta pounced on the girl and dragged her up by one arm then took off running down the hall, shouting “I’m gonna borrow your new friend ‘kay Callie!?” not waiting for a response at all.

            The mousy girl was terrified but felt that she could do nothing as the strongest of the pair dragged her through the castle at breakneck speeds.  _So many people looked at her_ as they barreled past that Minerva felt she was in serious danger of dying from embarrassment.  Fortunately for her, they were soon away from the madding crowds and making their way through the basements.  Minerva had a sudden moment of clarity as a spider web drifted down onto her head.  Calmly pulling the little net off her face, knowing that rubbing would only tangle it further, she realized that she cared more about no one looking at her than whatever potential indignities could befall her this far underground at the hands of a stranger.  “I am so fucked,” she whispered, then bit her tongue for using such awful language.

            “You are just perfect!” Nepeta announced, rolling her Rs musically in a way that made Minerva envious.  “Minnie, you’re just what he needs!”

            “Wait, Minnie?”  Her heart skipped a beat.  “Wait _he?!_ ”  Dear God the feral child was going to sell her to some man!

            Nepeta nodded excitedly.  “I _thought_ he needed a strong woman to be his model, but what he _really_ needs is a delicate girl who can bring out his knightly virtues!”

            Nepeta flung open the door to a seemingly random cellar and threw Minerva into it.  “Meet Minnie Weaver, newest member of the philosophy club and your future bride!” She shouted, slamming shut the door.

            Inside was a lanky creature, his face scarred, and his long hair sticking out at completely random angles.  He had lazy purple eyes that seemed to see right through her, and most horrifyingly, he had the horns and legs of a goat.  “Hey there little sister,” he drawled.

            Minerva wanted to scream but no sound came out.  Mercifully, the door opened at that moment.  Nepeta looked down at her with curious eyes for a brief second before shouting, “Gamzee get out of here, leave these two lovebirds alone!”

            The devil boy nodded and raised his lanky form up off the ground. Making his way out the door, and disappearing with Nepeta with nothing but a lazy wave.  The lock clicked shut.  “Oh no,” she muttered.

            “Um, hello?” said another voice. There was a small, dusky boy sitting on the ground, legs twisted up underneath him.  He looked at her with watery brown eyes, easily just as frightened as she was.  “Your name is…Minnie?”

            Minerva relaxed a little.  “Hello,” she said in response.  “It’s Minerva actually, I’m new.”

            The boy nodded slowly and they stared awkwardly at each other for a few minutes and then all at once blushed darkly.   “Oh God, umm, I’m sorry, my name is—my name is Tavros!”  He looked as if he were going to either cry or die of embarrassment.  

            Something strange happened to Minerva, as if little bubbles were rising up from the inside of her.  She _giggled_.  Covering her mouth in embarrassment, she stared at the boy again, and their eyes met.  Her cheeks felt warm.  “ _I’m sorry_ ,” she muttered, mouth still covered.  No one would ever see her mouth again if she had anything to say about it, and if she did say something you could be damned sure that it would be behind the modesty and protection of her hand.  “I didn’t mean to laugh at you, I’m not an awful person…”

            “I can tell,” said Tavros.  He was not meeting her eyes but instead looking around her, _near_ her face but not at it.  Minerva sagged; he must think she was too ugly to look at.  “That you aren’t a bad person, I mean.  I guess, that, I am just way too silly to exist, I mean, forgetting to introduce myself for like, ten years, that’s stupid….”

            Minerva found that she had been unconsciously scooting towards him and had advanced at least three feet.  She noted with a hint of disappointment that he had not moved towards her at all.  Minerva was at a loss; for the first time in her life _she_ would have to continue the conversation because _someone else_ was too embarrassed.  It was entirely unprecedented.

            “Well then,” she said, looking at him again.  It couldn’t help but bring a smile to her face.  “That’s a lovely scarf you have.”

            Tavros held up one silvery end and looked at it as if he’d forgotten he’d been wearing the scarf.  “It’s made of spider-silk.”  He bit his lip in apprehension, and then suddenly, as if to stop himself from stopping himself, he roughly unwound the scarf and shoved the silvery bundle into Minerva’s chest.  “It’s really useful,” he spat out, “almost indestructible and softer than real silk and it’s really pretty like y—” he caught himself just in time.

            Minerva was redder than she’d ever been.  “Th-thank you, Tavros…”

            “Welcome to the Scholomance,” he finished lamely.

 

            Nepeta had her eye to the keyhole.  She could just send one of her Pounces in there to spy for her, but decided that would be improper for a real match-maker.  Gamzee was sitting on the ground next to her, ear pressed to the door.  “They’re just talkin’,” he said.

            “Patience foolish little Gambro, they are _bonding_ ,” Nepeta assured him.  She gasped dramatically and started shaking Gamzee’s shoulder.  “He gave her his _scarf_ there is a God!”

            Gamzee threw up his arms and shouted “Hallelujah!”

 

            “The assassin is almost certainly dead,” said Redglare, “but the fact that we haven’t found the body yet is more than disquieting.”  She touched her hand to her forehead and started rubbing her eyes. 

            Feferi chewed her lower lip and looked up at her from the hospital bed; she didn’t really need to be in there as her new body was even more physically fit than the previous one, but they didn’t know what else to do with her.  “Miss Peixes I’m afraid we’re going to need your talents _again,_ and I apologize—”

            “Oh no!” Feferi insisted.  “I promise you Governor, I am completely on board with helping out in any way I can!  That asshole hurt a lot of people and deserves everything that’s coming to him—”

            Redglare rapped her with her rapier.  “I welcome and admire your enthusiasm but mind your language.  I don’t care how many orders of magnitudes beyond nearly every other mage alive you are.”

            Redglare turned on her heel.  “Now Jeffrey—” Jeffrey was gone.

            “He didn’t even come in actually,” said Feferi, helpfully.   “He stood just outside the door acting all nervous until he finally left.  We were talking about important stuff so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

            Redglare growled just slightly and under her breath.  “At least I can add another few weeks to his sentence for this.  I’m getting used to having a pageboy...but where could he have gone off to?”

 

            “Oi ya fookin tosspot where the bloody shite are yah?” Broderick shouted through clenched teeth.  It was quite the accomplishment.  He’d been looking for his idiot friend all day, and while he was probably busy helping that stupid lieutenant governor, Broderick was _not_ about to let him off easy.  He was going to get the frowning of a lifetime.  “JEFFR—”

            A hand clamped down over his mouth and Broderick suppressed a scream.  He was at the bottom of a seldom used staircase to an unfinished tower; he had no idea why he’d thought Jeffrey would be here.

            “Broderick,” Jeffrey hissed into his ear. 

            He sighed in relief and mentally began preparing a diatribe that would point out Jeffrey’s general goonish worthlessness.  He thought he would start with calling him a name, and then going on from ther—

            The iron spike that rammed through his kidney was incredibly cold, and the shock of pain drove the strength out of him.  HE could no longer feel his legs; there was a horrible pain in the middle of his body and nothing at all beneath it.  Broderick slumped in Jeffrey’s arms as the other boy spoke.  “Sorry Bro, I just never woulda had a chance against one of the better students.”  He began to drag Broderick under the stairs; they projected out from a central column, leaving a dark crawlspace underneath.  “I’m pretty weak far as magic goes, the pinks proved that the other night.  I wouldna hurt you when the time came but I thought I’d have more time to prepare.  They’re rushing us though.”  With that, Jeffrey rammed another spike into his chest, right through the sternum.

            Broderick wasn’t paying any attention to him anymore though he kept talking for a good long while.  Massive amounts of blood had oozed out of his side staining Jeffrey’s clothes, and now his chest wound was leaving a puddle that was half ocean on the floor.  Who would have thought he’d have so much blood in him?  It would take forever to clean that up, which is what Jeffrey tried to do.  Broderick was still fully conscious as Jeffrey summoned up his spirit, a huge dark man made of rock, and ordered him to start mopping up.  “They’re already here Bro,” Jeffrey said warningly. “I can’t even run because they’re already here…”

            After a few minutes of inactivity, Jeffrey staggered up to Broderick and closed his eyes.  “Ssh, no tears, only dreams now…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo one year anniversary!!!  
>  In celebration I shall leave this chapter unedited out of tradition, and not because I am too tired and want to get it up today….  
>  But wow, a whole year since I posted this thing—so much has happened, 2013 has definitely been one of my best years…2014 has been pretty shit so far but what can you do? Let’s hope I hit all my other milestones with equal punctuality.  
>  Interestingly enough this is one of the earliest story-arcs that I created for this fic, and is mostly unchanged except that Tavros’s love interest was a canon character and not an OC. But why an OC? Have I lost my marbles? Potentially, you’ll see. Hehehe, cute awkward romance is my favorite. So cute. Much awkward. Very romance. Wow!  
> And I have no clue who was asking about the newgirl in the opening paragraphs. Can't be Jane she's back in the colonies. Maybe it was Callie? Let's go with that.


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